No matter your politics, as a parent, it is awful to watch what is going on in Iraq. I don’t know at this point if it would be better to maintain our troop levels or get the hell out, but I identify with Cindy Sheehan, the recently reknowned mother of a soldier killed in Iraq.
Parenthood changes all of us in myriad ways. (Remember when you thought “My kid will never run around with snot sliding down his face?” or “Who is that awful mother yelling at her children in the parking lot?”) ha.
There is no more transformative experience imaginable. Four hours sleep suddenly seems like enough to run the NY Marathon. The thought of exposing your breast in your car to pump while stuck in traffic? Not terrifying– just efficient. And all the teenage anger at your parents that you held onto for years suddenly evaporates when you have your own child.
But, of the thousands of mental and physical evolutions that occured after the birth of my daughter, none compared with the terrifying emotional vulnerability I suddenly felt. The war in Iraq terrifies me because of that inescapable vulnerability of being a parent. There is now a large part of my heart that is walking around in a 5 year old (who will someday be an 18 year old, and possibly fight in a war), and I will never be able to protect my heart when it is no longer stuck inside my chest.
To bring a child into the world, you must believe that the world will get better. Most days, I do. But when I look at Cindy Sheehan, I am not so sure. As Thomas Lynch wrote today in the NYTimes about Iraq, “Humankind goes on burning the bridges in front and behind us without apology, our own worst enemies, God help us all.”
I will deliver our third child sometime in the next month. Iraq and suicide bombers and famine in Africa are not doing much for my optimism about humanity.
Also, I can’t lie. I am a patriot, but I cannot imagine watching my child depart for a warzone- especially to a war whose neccessity and merits are debatable. My husband lost his brother in Iraq. No one in the family discusses whether his death was “worth it”– there is no point, and nothing but pain on the other side of that question. We all focus on the fact that he wanted to be there, and believed in what he was doing. But secretly, I wonder. And so without knowing what the right answer is, I say “I hear you, Cindy.” And I will light a candle in your son Casey’s memory tonight.
Posted on August 17th, 2005 by Allison
Filed under: Uncategorized
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