The below is from a few months ago, but I was unaware of it until a few hours ago. I just reposted it on my union's BBS & listserve. It belongs here also.
To Whom it May Concern,
I found out that my brother, Sergeant Ryan M.
Campbell, was dead during a graduate seminar at Emory
University on April 29, 2004. Immediately after a
uniformed officer knocked at my mother's door to
deliver the message that broke her heart, she called
me on my cell phone. She could say nothing but "He's
gone." I could say nothing but "No." Over and over
again we chanted this refrain to each other over the
phone as I made my way across the country to hold her
as she wept.
I had made the very same trip in February, cutting
classes to spend my brother's two weeks' leave from
Baghdad with him. Little did I know then that the next
time I saw him would be at Arlington National
Cemetery. During those days in February, my brother
shared with me his fear, his disillusionment, and his
anger. "We had all been led to believe that Iraq posed
a serious threat to America as well as its surrounding
nations," he said. "We invaded expecting to find
weapons of mass destruction and a much more prepared
and well-trained Republican Guard waiting for us. It
is now a year later, and alas, no weapons of mass
destruction or any other real threat, for that
matter."
Ryan was scheduled to complete his one-year
assignment to Iraq on April 25. But on April 11, he
emailed me to let me know not to expect him in Atlanta
for a May visit, because his tour of duty had been
involuntarily extended. "Just do me one big favor,
ok?" he wrote. "Don't vote for Bush. No. Just don't do
it. I would not be happy with you."
Last night, I listened to George W. Bush's live,
televised speech at the Republican National
Convention. He spoke to me and my family when he
announced, "I have met with parents and wives and
husbands who have received a folded flag, and said a
final goodbye to a soldier they loved. I am awed that
so many have used those meetings to say that I am in
their prayers and to offer encouragement to me. Where
does strength like that come from? How can people so
burdened with sorrow also feel such pride? It is
because they know their loved one was last seen doing
good. Because they know that liberty was precious to
the one they lost. And in those military families, I
have seen the character of a great nation: decent, and
idealistic, and strong."
This is my reply: Mr. President, I know that you
probably still "don't do body counts," so you may not
know that almost one thousand U.S. troops have died
doing what you told them they had to do to protect
America. Ryan was Number 832. Liberty was, indeed,
precious to the one I lost-- so precious that he would
rather have gone to prison than back to Iraq in
February. Like you, I don't know where the strength
for "such pride" on the part of people "so burdened
with sorrow" comes from; maybe I spent it all holding
my mother as she wept. I last saw my loved one at the
Kansas City airport, staring after me as I walked
away. I could see April 29 written on his sad,
sand-chapped and sunburned face. I could see that he
desperately wanted to believe that if he died, it
would be while "doing good," as you put it. He wanted
us to be able to be proud of him. Mr. President, you
gave me and my mother a folded flag instead of the
beautiful boy who called us "Moms" and "Brookster."
But worse than that, you sold my little brother a bill
of goods. Not only did you cheat him of a long
meaningful life, but you cheated him of a meaningful
death. You are in my prayers, Mr. President, because I
think that you need them more than anyone on the face
of the planet. But you will never get my vote.
So to whom it may concern: Don't vote for Bush.
No. Just don't do it. I would not be happy with you.
Sincerely,
Brooke M. Campbell
Atlanta, GA
http://www.truthout.org/docs_04/090604A.shtml