thedrifter
03-05-06, 07:43 AM
SAN JOSE
War moms' pain, pride
Emotions run gamut as troops' mothers tell their stories
- Rick DelVecchio, Chronicle Staff Writer
Sunday, March 5, 2006
One by one, the parents of eight soldiers sent off to war, some for the last time, braved the cold Saturday to share their stories amid dabbed tears, choked sobs, clutched American flags and a determination to set aside the political strife over the war in Iraq.
They came from throughout California and Texas to the windswept City Hall plaza in San Jose, each with their own views on the war but united by the sadness of seeing a child go to war and the uncertainty of wondering if it was their son or daughter caught in the latest attack.
Some have suffered the loss that often comes with war, while others have felt the joy of seeing their child return home safely.
They did not come to debate the merits of the war, but to celebrate the soldiers sent there and the families left behind.
"We need to tell stories -- we need to talk of their courage and sacrifice and remember their devotion to us," said Deb Saunders, president of the East Bay Blue Star Moms and the mistress of ceremonies for the event, which preceded Saturday night's world premiere of the documentary film "My Child: Mothers of War."
Nearly 150 friends, family members and supporters looked on as the moms stepped up to speak one at a time.
In the audience, an old soldier in a scarlet Marine veteran's cap and a gray-haired woman in a lawn chair dried tears with tissues. A military dad wore a giant Uncle Sam hat and held an oversized flag. A woman wore a T-shirt showing a headstone bearing the name of a soldier.
Simi Valley residents John D. and Susan House, who lost their son, Larry, in a helicopter crash in Iraq last month, held one another in the front row.
One by one, the mothers told how their children had died.
Jesse Mizener of Auburn was killed in January 2004 when his maintenance company came under mortar fire.
Cory Geurin of Santee (San Diego County) fell to his death from the roof of Saddam Hussein's palace in ancient Babylon, having tripped on barbed wire after taking leadership in a firefight when the ranking officer was cut down.
Michael D. Anderson of Modesto -- a born soldier, his mom said, and the desert-fatigue-clad poster child for the movie -- was killed in the Fallujah offensive of December 2004.
Though some cried, Lorrie O'Connor of Millbrae stood at the back, smiling. Her daughter, Marine Sgt. Lisa O'Connor, just came home after finishing her last tour.
"Let me tell you," she said, "I've had a wonderful week."
Some mothers read from notes. Others ad-libbed on the spot. All struggled with the conflicting emotions of attachment and letting go.
They spoke of the pain of seeing their children go off to war, often for the last time, and the pride of knowing their sons and daughters heeded the call and grew up under fire to become the people their parents hoped they would be.
The film, which premiered at the Cinequest Film Festival at the California Theatre in downtown San Jose and will show again today at noon, was directed by Angeliki Giannakopoulos. It was her idea to hold a rally where those with opinions on both sides of the Iraq war could put aside their differences for the moment and unite behind the troops' mothers.
"I never knew what support was in my life till the last year and a half," she said. "I've been meeting moms around the country, and the definition of support is about 15 pages in my book.
"America's heart is bleeding, and America's heart is the moms of this country -- and they're going through a hard time right now."
Debbie Katsounakis, president of the Modesto and Central Valley chapter of the Blue Star Mothers, recalled how angry she was when she learned her son was going off to war as a military police officer. But her anger, she said, changed to acceptance as time passed and she took a step back.
"I was being incredibly selfish in my thinking," she said. "Then I was faced with the question, 'Why not?' All I could do was love them, have faith and accept what would be. As mothers, that's all we can do."
Jennifer Tyson of Modesto said her son graduated from boot camp just before Sept. 11, 2001. She marveled at the atmosphere at the gathering
"Lots of love here," she said. "This is real. Can't get any realer than this."
Marie Bonilla shared what her son wrote from Iraq after she asked if there was anything he had to say to his mom. He said he would protect her and declared that he was at home among his fellow Marines.
"Because of my (Marine) brothers and me, you're able to love and hate," he wrote. "We have a whole new family. Don't cry for me -- we are at home right now. If you cry, cry because soon you will welcome us home."
"He's in Iraq right now, doing his job like every other Marine," Bonilla said.
Dennis Geurin's story was among the most poignant.
His son, Cory, helped keep convoy lanes safe during the invasion of Iraq in 2003 and received a battlefield promotion for his leadership under fire.
Although he was killed falling from a rooftop, Geurin said his son would have climbed back up there if he'd had the chance. His son, he said, was a natural leader, even if he never realized it.
"I love you, Cory," he said. "If America didn't know this was hard, they do now."
E-mail Rick DelVecchio at rdelvecchio@sfchronicle.com.
Ellie
War moms' pain, pride
Emotions run gamut as troops' mothers tell their stories
- Rick DelVecchio, Chronicle Staff Writer
Sunday, March 5, 2006
One by one, the parents of eight soldiers sent off to war, some for the last time, braved the cold Saturday to share their stories amid dabbed tears, choked sobs, clutched American flags and a determination to set aside the political strife over the war in Iraq.
They came from throughout California and Texas to the windswept City Hall plaza in San Jose, each with their own views on the war but united by the sadness of seeing a child go to war and the uncertainty of wondering if it was their son or daughter caught in the latest attack.
Some have suffered the loss that often comes with war, while others have felt the joy of seeing their child return home safely.
They did not come to debate the merits of the war, but to celebrate the soldiers sent there and the families left behind.
"We need to tell stories -- we need to talk of their courage and sacrifice and remember their devotion to us," said Deb Saunders, president of the East Bay Blue Star Moms and the mistress of ceremonies for the event, which preceded Saturday night's world premiere of the documentary film "My Child: Mothers of War."
Nearly 150 friends, family members and supporters looked on as the moms stepped up to speak one at a time.
In the audience, an old soldier in a scarlet Marine veteran's cap and a gray-haired woman in a lawn chair dried tears with tissues. A military dad wore a giant Uncle Sam hat and held an oversized flag. A woman wore a T-shirt showing a headstone bearing the name of a soldier.
Simi Valley residents John D. and Susan House, who lost their son, Larry, in a helicopter crash in Iraq last month, held one another in the front row.
One by one, the mothers told how their children had died.
Jesse Mizener of Auburn was killed in January 2004 when his maintenance company came under mortar fire.
Cory Geurin of Santee (San Diego County) fell to his death from the roof of Saddam Hussein's palace in ancient Babylon, having tripped on barbed wire after taking leadership in a firefight when the ranking officer was cut down.
Michael D. Anderson of Modesto -- a born soldier, his mom said, and the desert-fatigue-clad poster child for the movie -- was killed in the Fallujah offensive of December 2004.
Though some cried, Lorrie O'Connor of Millbrae stood at the back, smiling. Her daughter, Marine Sgt. Lisa O'Connor, just came home after finishing her last tour.
"Let me tell you," she said, "I've had a wonderful week."
Some mothers read from notes. Others ad-libbed on the spot. All struggled with the conflicting emotions of attachment and letting go.
They spoke of the pain of seeing their children go off to war, often for the last time, and the pride of knowing their sons and daughters heeded the call and grew up under fire to become the people their parents hoped they would be.
The film, which premiered at the Cinequest Film Festival at the California Theatre in downtown San Jose and will show again today at noon, was directed by Angeliki Giannakopoulos. It was her idea to hold a rally where those with opinions on both sides of the Iraq war could put aside their differences for the moment and unite behind the troops' mothers.
"I never knew what support was in my life till the last year and a half," she said. "I've been meeting moms around the country, and the definition of support is about 15 pages in my book.
"America's heart is bleeding, and America's heart is the moms of this country -- and they're going through a hard time right now."
Debbie Katsounakis, president of the Modesto and Central Valley chapter of the Blue Star Mothers, recalled how angry she was when she learned her son was going off to war as a military police officer. But her anger, she said, changed to acceptance as time passed and she took a step back.
"I was being incredibly selfish in my thinking," she said. "Then I was faced with the question, 'Why not?' All I could do was love them, have faith and accept what would be. As mothers, that's all we can do."
Jennifer Tyson of Modesto said her son graduated from boot camp just before Sept. 11, 2001. She marveled at the atmosphere at the gathering
"Lots of love here," she said. "This is real. Can't get any realer than this."
Marie Bonilla shared what her son wrote from Iraq after she asked if there was anything he had to say to his mom. He said he would protect her and declared that he was at home among his fellow Marines.
"Because of my (Marine) brothers and me, you're able to love and hate," he wrote. "We have a whole new family. Don't cry for me -- we are at home right now. If you cry, cry because soon you will welcome us home."
"He's in Iraq right now, doing his job like every other Marine," Bonilla said.
Dennis Geurin's story was among the most poignant.
His son, Cory, helped keep convoy lanes safe during the invasion of Iraq in 2003 and received a battlefield promotion for his leadership under fire.
Although he was killed falling from a rooftop, Geurin said his son would have climbed back up there if he'd had the chance. His son, he said, was a natural leader, even if he never realized it.
"I love you, Cory," he said. "If America didn't know this was hard, they do now."
E-mail Rick DelVecchio at rdelvecchio@sfchronicle.com.
Ellie