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This weekend marks the first anniversary
of my nephew's death in Iraq.
August 6, 2005 is the date
Marine Lance Cpl. Chase Comley was killed instantly by a vehicle-borne
IED. My brother, Chase's father, received the news just after
midnight, early on the 7th. "We regret to inform you."
These are the words that shifted the earth's plates.
"Chase was killed in Iraq."
This seismic sentence traveled the telephone lines, shifting
the earth's plates for all of us.
Even now, to think or say this,
a year later, is unreal. It's as if our minds still can't grasp
that Chase is dead. Something essential to understanding language
is missing. Something necessary to understanding right and wrong
is askew. Chase was 21-years-old. There is nothing right about
this, nothing noble, nothing we can look to in Iraq and proudly
say, "Chase died for this."
Chase was killed in Iraq.
There is no accepting it. Ever.
My 86-year-old father had bargained
with God to take him, not Chase. He didn't tell my mother this,
nor did he say a word to me. Nor did I tell them that I had
a terrible feeling. Nor did my mother say that she, too, expected
the worst. Nor did my brother, Chase's father, let on for a
second that when he said goodbye to Chase, he knew that he would
never see his son alive again. This was revealed after the shifting
of the plates.
My mother still agonizes that
maybe we didn't try hard enough to talk him out of enlisting.
But we did try. I tell her this over and over. I
remind her that Chase couldn't be dissuaded-that when I suggested
the Coast Guard, he thought that would be settling for much less
than first. The U.S. Marine Corps would make him a man. My mother
says it made him a dead man.
My brother Mark called yesterday.
His voice was oozing grief. I think of him a year ago when
he received a call from his fiancée to come home. She
mercifully told him she had a particularly bad migraine and needed
him immediately. The Marines had come but wouldn't tell her
anything. They hovered in the neighborhood, waiting for my brother
to arrive. Mark loaded his equipment and began the drive back
to their house. I imagine him as he pulled in front of their
place. I see him as he got out of his car, walking in, and hearing
her tell him to "sit down." I think of the ringing
of the doorbell. I picture the look on my brother's face, his
demeanor. It was in the middle of the night-a time for only
bearers of words that are too horrible to hear.
And I picture Chase. For the
longest time, I could see only a gauze-wrapped head inside a
flag-draped coffin. No, I didn't actually view this, but I knew
that he came home this way and I could not block this image from
entering my mind. It was months before I could think of him
without seeing gauze. And after that, it was months before I
could walk the streets and not imagine I saw him on every corner.
I think of Cindy Sheehan's
falling to the floor, screaming for her son Casey. I think of
Carlos Arredondo, father of Alexander, who, upon hearing of his
son's death, set fire to the military vehicle he thought was
bringing Alexander home safely, just in time for Carlos' birthday.
I think of my brother. I think of my parents and hearing
my father cry. I think of my mother who can't cry but whose
tears remain inside her heart. And I think of all the parents
whose children are in Iraq and Afghanistan. Knowing that many
more will hear the ringing of the bell if we do not demand an
end to the catastrophe we've created for our soldiers, their
families, and for the people of Iraq and Afghanistan makes me
want to collapse in anguish. I feel powerless. And stupid.
Because I thought my words could make a difference. People tell
me to speak truth to power. I can speak truth, but I have no
power. The powerful don't give a damn, while those who understand
and feel the truth are powerless as the war wages on.
Occasionally, I receive e-mails
from people who praise the president, telling me we haven't had
an attack on our shores since 9/11. I respond that we haven't
caught the person responsible for the events of that day. I remind
them that the president made a link between that tragedy and
Iraq and, then, whipped up patriotic fervor to convince Americans
to support the invasion and occupation of Iraq. And, then, I
go on to list the many attacks we have endured here at home-on
our constitution, on the people of New Orleans, the impoverished,
the environment, our liberties, and that assault we see daily
on our intelligence as the lies continue to flow from the mouths
of the neocons who are running and ruining our democracy.
And there is the heart-shattering
assault that occurs, that shifting of the earth's plates, when
the military messengers ring the doorbell.
Now, we're hearing the generals
admit that Iraq may be "descending" into civil war.
Months ago, it was "on the brink." This war based
on lies was a civil war as soon as we invaded. And like
all wars, it has brought tsunamis of pain and suffering, altering
the hopes and dreams of families whose loved ones have been killed
or injured. Coalition families and Iraqi families.
On Thursday, Donald Rumsfeld
testified that he never painted a rosy picture in Iraq. His
memory is deficient. Just before the invasion, he said:
"Five days or five weeks or five months, but it certainly
isn't going to last any longer than that." He also said
in July of 2003, "I don't do quagmires."
And from Dick Cheney: "Weeks
rather than months."
From Richard Perle: "I
can't tell you how many days or weeks. But by historical standards,
this will be a short war."
Almost 2,600 United States
soldiers have died in this war that was supposed to be a "cakewalk,"
2,378 after George Bush said, "Bring em on," a challenge
he regrets. Disastrously, he regrets only the language he used.
Over 2,800 Coalition troops have been killed, 103 since the
death of al-Zarqawi.
What will heal the pain that
enveloped my family a year ago? Nothing. Not time. Not justice.
Not even the heads of the neocons on a platter.
Rest in peace, Chase Comley.
We can't.
Missy Beattie lives in New York City. She's written
for National Public Radio and Nashville Life Magazine.
An outspoken critic of the Bush Administration and the war in
Iraq, she's a member of Gold Star Families for Peace. She completed
a novel last year, but since the death of her nephew, Marine
Lance Cpl. Chase J. Comley, in Iraq on August 6,'05, she has
been writing political articles. She can be reached at: Missybeat@aol.com
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