My first waking thought today was of Tracy Bennedsen.

In that vulnerable twilight between sleep and lucidity, my grief for her was profound. I realized this was the third day Tracy woke knowing she’d never again kiss and hug her son Robert. My heart dropped through the bottom of my stomach and cracked open a flood of sadness.

I didn’t know Robert beyond his indomitable form tearing down the football field, but I know Tracy. Beautiful Tracy — always ready with a smile and an inquiry about my son or nephew, whose football careers she’s followed since she drove them to their first game seven years ago. Knowing her is testimony to how much Robert was loved.

What grief is worse than for a parent to lose a child?

I remember the day my husband returned to work after my first child was born. Suddenly I found myself alone in a silent house with this tiny human being.

It was the first moment I had to string two thoughts together since his birth. A feeling of complete and utter vulnerability washed over me as I realized that I had never felt a love this fierce or profound. I felt the axis of my world shift as I acknowledged that having this child had just opened me up to the most incredible pain and suffering imaginable.

What would I do if this love were taken away? No one told me that having children would be the most courageous thing I’d do in my lifetime.

A good friend who is a Marine sent me an e-mail about Robert’s death. “My view on these things is there is no way to ever feel such a loss is ‘worth it,’” he wrote. Instead, he added,

“It is critical to remember (Robert) was doing what he wanted and felt compelled to do when he was killed.” I know Robert felt a calling to serve others from a young age — as a teammate on the football field, a firefighter and a soldier. Perhaps, having not pursued the calling to be a soldier would have left a life unfulfilled. I can’t make sense of it, nor will I try to.

People routinely talk about the soldiers on the battlefield — about their courage and heroism. But what about the people who love them and let them go?

Tracy and Scott, Robert’s parents, proved themselves courageous by entering into the contract of parenthood and by letting Robert, time and time again, spread his wings. As I mourn the loss of Robert, I celebrate the people who loved him and their bravery for allowing him to follow his dreams.

—Mary Kay Rauma is an Island writer and mother of two.