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thedrifter
04-07-04, 07:12 AM
American warriors carry good intentions into fight with Iraq




March 21, 2003 — 2:17 a.m.
How spoiled I was. Thirty-six days of e-mails from Josh aboard the USS Anchorage. On that 36th day, how I cherished the sound of Josh's voice in a phone call as his ship approached Kuwait.

That call served notice. Goodbye instant-gratification communication. Hello military snail mail and sluggish deliveries.

Twenty-four days passed without a word. It felt more like 24 years.

If there was ever a day I needed to hear from Joshua, it was Wednesday, the day the United States attacked Iraq.

The white envelope with the red-white-and-blue border stood out in our mailbox like a million-dollar sweepstakes announcement among the bills, pizza coupons and zero-interest credit card offers.

You've seen those comedy-and-tragedy masks. I whooped, screamed and jumped. Then I focused on Josh's careful handwriting — the same one that scribbled quick notes in high school, "Went to Judd's — back later."

Meltdown. I cried all the way down the sidewalk and up our driveway — then remembered how happy I was and started laughing all over again. My husband looked at me warily with one eyebrow raised — like he questioned my sanity.

No question about it. Crazy with fear and worry. Crazy with love and nonstop begging prayers and aching for Josh's safety. Crazy over memories of a 3-year-old Joshua tearing around the house in his "Super Josh" cape. Yesterday.

Josh's letter was dated March 7. I can share some parts. You've followed Joshua since Marine Corps boot camp nearly four years ago. No sense stopping now.

KUWAIT — "Hey Momma — Excuse my writing. My hand is cramping up pretty bad. It's sore from lugging around my MK19. Anything new in the news?

"Last I heard there were a lot of protests and people planning to be human shields. I hope this isn't like Vietnam where we come home and everyone hates us. It sucks not having your own country support what you are doing for them. On the other hand, we fight to protect their freedoms so they can say what they think. I think I'll completely lose it if I come home and see them talking down on us — knowing some died for it.

"It was nice being able to talk to you for a few minutes when I called. Thanks for being strong. I could tell you were trying pretty hard. I can't wait to come home and have a big party and start school — just have a normal life."

Joshua operates a grenade launcher in the 1st Recon Battalion, which is part of the 1st Marine Division. Thursday, they crossed into southern Iraq.

The very thought of it is enough to make me want to cover my face and cry for eternity. People would cut me slack. I could probably even claim a chronic case of emotional incontinence and skip a few days' work.

Like Josh doesn't have other things to worry about than how his mother's holding up. That epiphany came to me as I read the part of Josh's letter where he thanked me for being strong.

If my 22-year-old kid can stifle mind-numbing fear, scramble to slap on a gas mask every time a siren screeches and risk his skin in war on the other side of the world, the least I can do is buck up and not be a crybaby. (Crying alone in the car or shower doesn't count.)

For Josh — and all the troops fighting this war — I will go to work, cook, walk the dogs, do laundry, garden, see friends and family, write my son and send military care packages. In short, I'll do my best to live with passion that "normal life" Josh is so looking forward to living.

That normal life — for everyone — is what the kids will tell you they're fighting for.


Doni Greenberg's column appears each Sunday, Wednesday and Friday. She can be reached at 225-8237 or dgreenberg@redding.com.





Friday, March 21, 2003

http://www.redding.com/columnist/dgreenberg/stories/20030321coldg008.shtml


Ellie