Everything Sucks

Please understand. I don't think EVERYTHING really sucks, but just some things. I like the sound of that title better than "Some Things Suck."

Again, I'm under a lot of stress. My boy is still in Iraq and every day we get news of stuff going on over there. It doesn't help that CNN declares over and over that this month has been the deadliest one ever since the Iraq thing started. It doesn't help that his dad (my ex) is calling me every day to ask if I "heard something." He's pretty much soiling his pants and he was always the strong one. It also doesn't help that last time my son called, when I asked him if he wanted me to send him sheets or pillows he told me, "Mom, we're sleeping on the ground." It further does not help that he was very pissed off about something that last time he called and he kept saying that he couldn't talk about it but that they (the troops) were being put in grave danger. After that call I came upon an article written about his commander in which he explains that now the squads are not allowed to shoot back when they are being attacked. That they first have to verify who is shooting at them. This is the new policy and it was put in place to "protect civilian life." Yeah, well, who is protecting my son's life? When a sniper shoots at them, what are they expected to do? Look around them, like in "Are you being served" when the salespeople are asked if they are free? In that split second a sniper or a mortar can get them. It really sucks, and now I understand why my son is angry and feels so frustrated and helpless. And here I am, and I can do nothing for him.

I promise that in February, when he comes back, I will never ever again write about this or go on and on about him. Ever. Right now, though, I need to vent.

Since he left for Iraq, I have written something like 12 condolence emails to families of casualties. I went to the funeral of one of his battalion buddies that was shot by a sniper and talked to this young man's mom and dad, nice hard-working people who were bewildered by the fact that their son was gone. They had that "tharn" look that wild animals get in our headlights at night. All I could do was hug his mom and whisper softly that things would be ok. She didn't know that I was lying.

What hurts me the most about all this is that these Marines are just boys. Boys with Toys. All the Marines I have met, and all of my son's buddies in Iraq are young, very young, idealistic, altruistic, they all wanted to do something for their country, they had high ideals of being important, of defending their flag... They are all good boys. Good boys with girlfriends that cry for them, good boys whose families love them and miss them like crazy. Good boys that should come back safe and sound.

I find myself thinking about my son, what he is doing right now, how the weather is over there, if he is looking up at the stars or at the clouds, if he is eating enough, if he has enough underwear and socks (yeah, mothers always worry about underwear and socks), if he is hot, or cold, or if he is coughing at night (he always had croup when he was little). It is hard to concentrate on other things when he is so far away.

So, please Mr. Bush, let's stop killing each other. Bring those boys back, let the Iraqis deal with their own problems, let's look into solar or nuclear energy instead of oil, let's stop all this nonsense. Let's make our airspace safe, let's take care of our country, our poor, our sick, our homeless. Let's be the country that helps, not the country that invades.