A Voice Against Warfare

*First written several years ago, but always a pertinent subject.

My guardian angel was a veteran of three wars. When my first born was six weeks old, we buried my grandfather at Arlington National Cemetery. Despite my minimal contact with my father's side of the family, since living with my mother. I made the train trip from Long Island to D.C., bringing my new son Adam. I knew that Adam's presence would be the greatest testament that I could give my grandfather, since I had a deep feeling that he had hung on long enough to hear that he was born healthy.

I could write an entire book about how special my grandfather is to me, as well as how special he was to many others. He taught me cribbage. In second grade, when I saw the movie "Born Free," he used his connections as a large animal veterinarian to give me the experience of playing with a baby lion cub. He knew when my feelings were hurt, and knew how to talk to me to help me feel better. His love was warm like sunshine.

The same year that I played with the baby lion cub, I gave my grandfather a candle for Christmas. It was a realistically shaped yellow-green apple, with an overpoweringly strong apple scent. Just the type that a child would choose as a gift for a teacher. These many years later, I barely remembered the gift, until I was told at the funeral, that he had kept it next to his bed since the day that I had given it to him, including his bed in the hospital where he died. This tiny tidbit of information had an effect on me so profound that it transcends words.

My grandfather's actual burial was the first military funeral that I had ever attended. Admittedly it was stunning. The dress guard at Arlington, are the elite. Everyone commented on how Adam startled with each fire, but never cried during the military gun salute.

After the burial, we walked around to get a sense of where the plot was in relation to the rest of the cemetery. We realized that he was not far from John Kennedy and the eternal flame, and we decided to walk in that direction. During our walk, I became overwhelmed with awareness of the acres and acres of matching gleaming white headstones.

I was aware that they were all there for us... for our freedoms... a primary one being our freedom of speech, which in a political sense is expressed in our right to vote. This secured my belief that it is not my right, but rather my responsibility to exercise my right to vote. It also secured my knowledge that I was not willing to sacrifice my new son to one of these graves.
It secured my voice against war.

I find it interesting when my patriotism is called into question because I am against war, when in fact, it is my patriotism that fuels it. I love my country. But, I refuse to say that I love our children less.

I cannot forget that every headstone in Arlington Cemetery stands in honor of somebody's son or daughter. If my country is going to risk my child's or any other mother's child's life, and set him (or her) up to try to take the life of another mother's child, there better be a damn good reason... no questions, no cover-ups, no rumors of conspiracies. My child's life is worth more than being a pawn in a politician's game of chess on the battlefield, especially if the real goal is securing higher profits for the wealthy 5%.

As idealistic as it might seem, I wonder what would happen if there were a pact between Moms (parents for that matter) world-wide to raise our children to follow the suggestion/commandment that so many claim to believe in... "Thou shalt not kill."
It makes me want to ask every mother, (again, every parent for that matter), who claim to love children, who claim to be Christian or any other label representing a faith in God, why is there not already such a pact?