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thedrifter
03-19-06, 08:21 AM
CHILDREN OF WAR
Three-year Iraq conflict leaves emotional casualties close to home
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Stories by Kristy Eckert | Photos by Chris Russell
THE COLUMBUS DISPATCH

HEY ARE THE youngest victims of the Iraq war. Some crawl around in diapers. Some play ball. Some are learning to drive. The younger ones wonder when Dad is coming home. The older ones know better. They are the 65 children of Ohio troops killed since the United States began Operation Iraqi Freedom three years ago today. The war has claimed the lives of more than 2,300 U.S. servicemen and servicewomen, including 105 from Ohio, the Defense Department says.

At least 34 of the Ohioans were parents, all fathers ages 19 to 49, according to Dispatch interviews with families and a review of obituaries, newspaper reports and online tributes.

Seven died before seeing their newborns.

The children now are scattered nationwide, some in Ohio and others near military bases where their fathers worked. Strangers linked by a tragic commonality, they deal with their losses in ways both heartwarming and heartbreaking.

Four-year-old Trinity Wobler takes her dad’s picture off the wall, sits at the kitchen table and talks to him.

Five-year-old Jacob Benford releases a balloon, tilts his head toward the clouds until it disappears, and then says, ‘‘Daddy has my balloon."

Two-year-old Daniel Shepherd knows which grave is his father’s, and he runs toward it.

Kassie Shepherd isn’t sure how she will someday explain things to Daniel, who is named for his father, Army Sgt. Daniel Shepherd. He was killed at age 23 in August 2004, before seeing his namesake.

Words alone won’t suffice, said Mrs. Shepherd, who lives near Cleveland and talks about her highschool sweetheart between tears and chuckles.

‘‘(I can) say, ‘Yeah, he was funny, and he liked to play jokes on people,’ " she said. ‘‘But he’s not going to know any of that stuff."

The void, experts say, will persist, growing more pronounced with milestones in life, from first ballgames to weddings. They’ve seen it with past generations: the children of World War II and the wars in Korea and Vietnam.

‘‘The loss of a parent at a young age is huge," said Linda Goldman, a therapist in Maryland who has written five books about children and grief. ‘‘There’s always that piece that is missing."

For military kids especially, experts say, the loss is often magnified: Besides a parent, many also lose bedrooms, friends and familiar surroundings when families move out of homes at bases and even to new cities.

Bonnie Carroll, chairwoman of the national military support group TAPS (Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors) has seen children struggle with a loss of identity.

‘‘When a child has grown up on military bases, around military schools, a big part of their own identity is in the military," she said. ‘‘So when that loss occurs, it’s a big concern: Are we still a part of the military?"

Images of violent death might haunt the children. And media coverage can serve as a constant reminder of their personal tragedy.

Many families who have lost loved ones support the war. Others decline to discuss the politics of it. Some question it.

Courtney Kuhns, who has a 2-year-old daughter, Mackenzie, hopes that something good results from her husband’s death.

Army Sgt. Larry Kuhns Jr., an outgoing and outdoorsy man of 24, supported the war. He was killed in June in a grenade attack.

‘‘I guess it’s something that has to be done," said Mrs. Kuhns, who lives in the Youngstown area. ‘‘But I think it cost us more than it’s worth."

Controversy over the war could affect these children later, Goldman said. As they grow, she said, they might question whether their parents died for a worthy cause.

Still, some dream of entering the military themselves.

Marine Capt. Tyler Swisher’s 16-year-old daughter, Ashleigh, sleeps in his old sweat shirts. She misses their long motorcycle rides. She misses everything.

Her dad, a native of the Cincinnati area, was killed five months ago by a homemade explosive hidden underground.

Ashleigh’s mother, Stephanie, is raising Ashleigh and her two younger children alone near Camp Lejeune, N.C.

Madison, 8, talks about their dad the most, struggling especially during the homecoming of other Marines.

Jacob, 5, doesn’t seem to grasp the reality of his father’s death: He has mentioned that he can come back to life whenever he wants.

The younger two go to bed with ‘‘daddy dolls" — doll-shaped pillows bearing a photo of their father.

‘‘It’s really hard to deal with," Ashleigh said. ‘‘I think the hardest part is being there for my mom all the time, because she’s a single mom, and she has to deal with all of us. I don’t know. Everything’s just hard."

Still, she wants to be a Marine, maybe a JAG legal officer.

Her dad, she said, inspired her.

Such a sentiment is typical, said Goldman, the grief counselor.

‘‘What they’re left with is a very positive feeling that their dad died for a good cause, and that their dad was a hero," she said.

‘‘And they want to grow up to be like them."

keckert@dispatch.com

Ellie