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the incalculable cost of warAnother chapter in the story of Georgia Stillwell and her son, who returned home from Iraq last year a changed man. How many other stories like this are there on both sides of the conflict? There is so little evidence that all this violence and sacrifice is worthwhile. Thankfully fewer and fewer people still believe that it is. (See Installment 1 and Installment 2 of the story.) ------------------------ Will I be heard??? I am heading to Washington DC for Operation House call on July 8th. I remember my first visit to DC. Four Days in May. Mothers Day weekend. A Day which will never be the same since my son went to Iraq. I remember as I flew in my heart was sick and I started to cry as I saw the capital. This was the belly of the beast.. I am returning for the next eight days. I am going to stand on the steps of the Cannon building with other Military families, some that will never see their children again. In my requests to Senators and Congressmen all I have requested is hear me..hear us. Some are willing to see us; some just want us to speak with aides. I am still waiting to schedule an appointment with Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert. My son resides in his district; my son is under his watch. As a side note Hastert's wife was my son's PE teacher. I want him to hear how little Bobby grew up into a fine young man..then he went to war. Now he lives in a hell I can't even fathom. Hear our stories of pain; hear how our lives that we once knew have changed forever. Hear how some of our children will never walk in the door again. Hear how my child tried to kill himself. Hear our soldiers are tormented in their souls. Hear what I Hear"¦. I hear the tears of a Gold star Mother everyday. I hear the house on the hill say stay the course. NOW HEAR ME"¦ I am not going away. I invite anyone who reads this to join me on those stairs and look them in the eye as I plead with them to hear me! Georgia Stillwell
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the incalculable cost of war
please join us in the aftermath of war:
http://groups.msn.com/AftermathofwarcopingwithPTSDtoo/welcome.msnw
THERE'S A LOOK IN THE EYES,
A BATTLE STARE, THAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS,
ONLY ANOTHER SOLDIER CAN SEE,
THE BLOOD THAT'S ON OUR HANDS.
AS ONLY ANOTHER SOLDIER CAN FEEL,
THE AGONY IN THE TEARS WE CRY,
A BROTHERHOOD THAT SHARES A GUILT,
BECAUSE WE DIDN'T DIE.
MY COMRADE IN ARMS KNOW TOO WELL,
WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE ALONE,
HOW TO BUILD A WALL AGAINST THE PAIN,
AND TURN THEIR HEARTS TO STONE.
WHERE EVERY COMBAT VETERAN,
IS SUFFERING FROM PTSD.,
BECAUSE THE WINDOWS TO OUR SOUL,
SAW THE THINGS NO MAN SHOULD SEE.
WE ARE THE WALKING WOUNDED,
THAT PLAYED A DEADLY GAME,
AND THOUGH OUR DAYS SEEM NUMBERED,
WE LIVE WITH ETERNAL BLAME.
WE BATTLE WITH THE WORD OF GOD,
WERE TAUGHT TO DO HIS WILL,
WHO PUT THE GUN INTO OUR HANDS,
AND TAUGHT THEIR SONS TO KILL?
WE'VE HELD OUR TONGUES IN SILENCE,
AND TURNED OUR PAIN WITHIN,
AS EACH DAY WE KEEP ON FIGHTING,
A WAR THAT WE NEVER WIN.
AND MERE MORTAL EYES FAIL TO SEE,
THAT OUR SPIRITS ARE LONG GONE,
NOR DO THEY KNOW THE PRICE WE PAY,
FOR THE BODIES WE'RE WALKING ON.
BY: CHRIS WOOLNOUGH