Bush Can't Shake Cindy Sheehan

"In peace, children inter their parents; war violates the order of nature and causes parents to inter their children." Herodotus

"There's a lot of folks here in the United States that are, you know, wondering about troop withdrawals. They're concerned about the violence and the death. They hear the stories about a loved one being lost to combat. I grieve for every death. It breaks my heart to think about a family weeping over the loss of a loved one. I understand the anguish that some feel about the death that takes place." George W. Bush

Once again, the president puts on his Sad Face and shakes his head when talking about the War in Iraq and the unimaginable horror of losing a child. All the while, he doesn't have a clue. And unconscionably, he doesn't give a damn.

For certain, he's shaken his head more than a few times over his own two daughters. But they are alive. It is their antics and misbehavior that causes the head shaking -- not their deaths.

Yet despite my own incredible anger and outrage at the president's coldness in the face of devastating loss--and his immoral contribution to the deaths of thousands--I sincerely hope he and his wife and all his fellow Right Wingnuts will never shake their heads in horror as parents who get the worst news of a lifetime.

But somehow, some way, they should know what it's really like.

First you stare in terror at the messenger, your brain already processing the unspeakable news to come, your heart and soul rising up in self-protective refusal. Your head begins to shake--NO--from side to side, at first slowly, then faster and faster, until it's moving in violent rhythm as denial crashes into reality.

The pain explodes with a white hot flash, starting in your chest, radiating throughout your body. You double over from its punch, fists clenched, shoulders hunched against its unbridled power. Its crushing weight stuns you with visceral intensity, you can't breathe, there is a loud buzzing in your ears, your stomach pitches, your teeth grind -- you are caught, immobilized, paralyzed between fight and flight.

The screams, when they finally erupt, rise from depths so primal they have no finite borders -- just harsh, jagged edges of inconceivable agony -- NOOOOOOO. OH PLEASE. NOOOOOOO. You can't stop the pure animal sounds, the keening, the wails of ultimate despair. You are totally, completely, inexorably in hell.

Images race through your mind: your child's face, his laugh, his sweet breath on your cheek. Memories spill over one another in dizzying succession: his life--and yours with him--passing before your eyes in a kaleidoscope of pain. And then the dam truly bursts, tears pour out of you with unstoppable force as you sink to the floor, drowning in them, thrashing in agony against the unthinkable -- and at any attempted comfort of loving hands.

You will never take real comfort again. Not ever. Because you will never be able to give comfort to the one person who needed you most at the end. The shock will fade, but the implacable grief will linger for the rest of your life. A vital piece of your body, your very soul has been torn from you. It will leave a gaping hole that nothing--Nothing--can fill. You will replay precious memories of your child's life in an endless loop that now includes abominable images of his death.

And you will try to find some meaning, some purpose, some sense of value to his death, and therefore to your own continuing life. Cindy Sheehan has found her cause, and it's more than just, it's righteous.

Mrs. Sheehan and her family are not alone in their grief. Far too many other mothers, and families, have suffered the same devastating loss. I can't possibly improve on Carly Sheehan's poem for her fallen brother -- and for all of us.

A Nation Rocked to Sleep
by Carly Sheehan
Brother Casey KIA 04/04/04
Sadr City Baghdad

Have you ever heard the sound of a mother screaming for her son?
The torrential rains of a mother's weeping will never be done
They call him a hero, you should be glad that he's one, but
Have you ever heard the sound of a mother screaming for her son?

Have you ever heard the sound of a father holding back his cries?
He must be brave because his boy died for another man's lies
The only grief he allows himself are long, deep sighs
Have you ever heard the sound of a father holding back his cries?

Have you ever heard the sound of taps played at your brother's grave?
They say that he died so that the flag will continue to wave
But I believe he died because they had oil to save
Have you ever heard the sound of taps played at your brother's grave?

Have you ever heard the sound of a nation being rocked to sleep?
The leaders want to keep you numb so the pain won't be so deep
But if we the people let them continue another mother will weep
Have you ever heard the sound of a nation being rocked to sleep?

I've said this before, and I say it now, plainly and simply: You get on with it, but you Never get over it.

Goldstar Families for Peace www.gsfp.org