Yesterday my husband and I signed the inital paperwork allowing our 17 year old son to join the U.S.M.C.'s delayed entry program. I have not stopped crying since. Outwardly I am the picture of support and sunshine. Inwardly I am a wreck. His last hear of high school was to be my year to take a scalple to those apron strings and carefully cut them away. Now I feel as if a machete has been used. Yes, I am proud of his decision and the young man he has become and will be, but I am terrified for his safety. How does this get better?