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2000 Dead Troops

“To save your world you asked this man to die; Would this man, could he see you now, ask why?” W. H. Auden How did Americans allow this to happen? How did we allow 2,000 kids to go to Iraq to die? Irrespective of the lies of an imminent threat, the promises of low casualties […]

They are heroes

Apparently, via the magic of the internet an article I wrote last week has in the space of only a few days, made its way around the world. The article ‘Why I Marched in DC’ was hard to write because it is hard being the mother of a trained killer. Sadly, I am only one in a growing sorority of other military mothers whose children have become experienced killers.

Peace March

When I was a little girl and again as a young woman dreaming about having children I never, ever, even for a heartbeat imagined that I would ever be the mother of someone that had killed somebody…but I am. There in Iraq in the dusty, sun baked rubble that was once the City of Mosques, Ar Ramadi, Iraq, my son repeatedly engaged an enemy, opened fire and ended lives.

Criminal Negligence

Even before Hurricane Katrina hit, the folks of Plaquemines Parish in Louisiana, knew they would be on their own with no state or federal assistance. The same thing had happened to them decades before after another hurricane. It took twenty years but the people of Plaquemines Parish, in exemplar American fashion, rebuilt their communities on their own. Sadly, the parish has been destroyed once again.

Common Ground

Battle lines were defined last weekend in Crawford, Texas by a little road called Prairie Chapel. On one side was Camp Casey, Cindy Sheehan’s Gold Star Families for Peace site. Over 800 rose and ribbon adorned crosses, two and three deep, extend a quarter mile along the road shoulder. Most bore the name of a fallen warrior of the Iraq war.

Casey Sheehan's Law

Earlier this year, late March, my Marine son returned home from his second tour in Iraq. Seeing him for the first time upon his return I found myself surveying him carefully, holding him close in my arms I assessed him like a mother would a newborn, ten fingers, yes, ten toes, good. My relief and gratitude suffered no boundaries and I poured forth my soul in reverence and appreciation to our ancestors for watching over him; I praised Buddha, Allah and God and thanked my lucky stars and wept profuse tears of release.