Today was an awesome “mommy day”. I am tired, but the day was great. I had the chance to play super heroes with the kids before going over to my friends house to do some crafts. After the crafts, the children had swimming class followed by dinner, a little television and then 2 stories. I think the children had fun and I know I did.
I’ve been trying to figure out the right words to write, but I am angry. I know this is supposed to be some type of blog post about my experiences with motherhood, but I’m so pissed about the situation in Iraq that I can’t get my thoughts straight. I just feel like anything I write is just so minor compared to what is happening in a country that I left a piece of me in. I worry about my husband. I don’t think I could stomach a call that he had to go to Iraq. I don’t think I could handle that.
I’m also angry at how people see things here. My mother called me earlier today to discuss her opinions on the President and what is happening in Iraq. For the record, my mother campaigned really hard for President Obama, but now she can’t stand him, even more so now. She was commenting on his abilities and “those” people over in Iraq. The common thing I hear people say is that those people need to figure it out on their own. That may be a true statement, but history has taught us that if we don’t get involved then it is highly likely that “those” peoples problems will become our own.
I came back home from Iraq angry. I still loved the Army, but couldn’t stand the bullcrap. My deployment experience was hard living, but the worst part was being a sitting duck to attacks. We had no bunkers to go inside of, but we got mortared often. No one cared. We were there to do our jobs no matter the cost. As the years have gone by, I have kind of stopped thinking about myself and how bad it was being there and thought about those who never made it back home and those who call that place home. When I think about the convoy into Baghdad, I remember the faces I saw and how this war has more than likely destroyed their lives. I looked at my son today and the thought crossed my mind that a 3 year old in Baghdad when I got there would be about 14 years old now. I thought about how that 3 year old probably ran on the side of the road smiling at the United States Army vehicles. I thought about how seeing U.S. Soldiers must have made him feel safe and now after all these years…nothing.
I remember working for U.S. Army Recruiting Command very shortly after I got back. A new recruiter had come into the station and he had his Combat Infantry Badge amongst other things on his uniform. He was freshly back from Fallujah and I just knew he was upset about the war. We began talking and it dawned on me that I had absolutely no clue about what war was. He told me that his job wasn’t the politics, but it was to help people. He expressed to me the first time his unit came into a town and the bad guys left (or got shot, depending how you look at it) and how the girls came outside and played. He said that little boys could play music and women felt safe walking down the street alone. He told me about little girls finally being able to go to school and men being so appreciative because they could practice their faith how they saw fit. I wonder how those people in that town feel now and I wonder how that Soldier feels now. We left them hanging and it hurts.
Why did we go there? Why did we leave when everyone knew this would happen? Why did Soldiers die? Why did so many Iraqis die? What was it all for? Why? Why? Why?