Casey Sheehan: "Let's never forget them. Their deaths can't be in vain."

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Casey Austin Sheehan May 29, 1979 - April 4, 2004

April 1, 2006 -- {snips} "I am often accused by the right-wing smear propaganda machine of making this struggle about me, and not about Casey. How Casey's story has been lost in the hulla-balloo that almost always is surrounding me. This is so ironic, because I started working for peace shortly after Casey was killed, to be sure that Casey would not be forgotten by America, that he would not be just a number. I started this so Casey's sacrifice would count for love and peace - not hatred, killing, and lies. I started on my journey for peace to make sure it didn't happen to other Caseys and their families.

As the two-year mark of Casey's death is careening helplessly towards me, I reflect that even if I tried with all my might, I could never forget, nor want to forget Casey or his story. I can never forget the joyous day that he came into our lives, on JFK's birthday, which was also Memorial Day that year. I will never forget the 21 Memorial Day birthdays before Casey donned the uniform of the Military Industrial Complex that we had where we invited family and friends over for a bar-be-que to celebrate his life. The two Memorial Day birthdays we have had so far without him are pain-filled beyond measure and we will have to endure many, many more. What about the holidays: the happy ones before Casey was killed, and the devastating ones since he died? Looking at pictures of the Sheehan family before Casey was killed is heart-rending to say the least. What about our birthdays? The ones since 4/4/4 where we won't even get a call from him, wishing us a happy day?

No, I won't ever forget about Casey, or Mike Mitchell, KIA with Casey; or Evan Ashcraft, KIA 7/24/2003; or John Torres, KIA 7/12/2004; or Chase Comely, KIA on 8/6/2005; Daniel Torres, KIA 2/4/2005; nor will I forget why I am trying to get our troops out of the predicament of colossal proportions that George Bush has gotten us into. I won't forget the thousands of other wonderful Americans who have been needlessly killed here in the Gulf States and in Iraq for the crimes of BushCo. Nor will I ever forget the images of dead Iraqis burned by toxin of this war: white phosphorous; or the seven-month-old baby with half of her head shot off by American troops; or the images of the Iraqi babies born with horrendous birth defects from leftover depleted uranium from the first Gulf War travesty. The images of the Bush destruction in the desert are horrifying in their brutality and we should all know that nothing good ever comes from killing innocent people.

I am convinced that the years of the Bush Regime will go down as the years that America lost its collective mind. We allowed the Bush crime family to scare us into two invasions of countries that had nothing to do with 9/11, and despite all evidence to the contrary, let them assure us that we are safer because of the uncalled-for wars. We have no problem with the administration authorizing, encouraging, and condoning torture, which only puts our troops and our children and their children more at risk for terrorist attacks. We allow our administration to use weapons of mass destruction on the innocent people of Iraq and think the invasion of Iraq was warranted because Saddam "used chemical weapons" on his own people. We allowed George Bush to play golf and Condi to shop for shoes in NYC while citizens of our country were hanging off of their roofs and drowning in New Orleans. We allow BushCo to spread the rubbish that we are spreading "freedom and democracy" in the Middle East, while we allow our faux-leaders to take away our freedoms here in America and destroy our democracy with a Republican coup that was bloody but virtually unopposed by the faux-opposition party and its followers."

full article: http://www.opednews.com/articles/opedne_cindy_sh_060401_casey_austin_sheehan.htm

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1. The Metal Checks

By Louise Driscoll

{The scene is a bare room, with two shaded windows at the back, and a fireplace between them with a fire burning low. The room contains a few plain chairs, and a rough wooden table on which are piled many small wooden trays. THE COUNTER, who is Death, sits at the table. He wears a loose gray robe, and his face is partly concealed by a gray veil. THE BEARER is the World, that bears the burden of War. He wears a soiled robe of brown and green and he carries on his back a gunny-bag filled with the little metal disks that have been used for six identification of the slain common soldiers.}

The Bearer
HERE is a sack, a gunny sack,
A heavy sack I bring.
Here is toll of many a soul—
But not the soul of a king.

This is the toll of common men,
Who lived in the common way;
Lived upon bread and wine and love,
In the light of the common day.

This is the toll of working men,
Blood and brawn and brain.
Who shall render us again
The worth of all the slain?

The Counter
Pour them out on the table here.
C l i c k e t y—c l i c k e t y—c l a c k!
For every button a man went out,
And who shall call him back?
C l i c k e t y—c l i c k e t y—c l a c k!

One—two—three—four—
Every disk a soul!
Three score—four score—
So many boys went out to war.
Pick up that one that fell on the floor—
Didn’t you see it roll?
That was a man a month ago.
This was a man. Row upon row—
Pile them in tens and count them so.

The Bearer
I have an empty sack.
It is not large. Would you have said
That I could carry on my back
So great an army—and all dead?

{As THE COUNTER speaks THE BEARER lays the sack over his arm and helps count.}

The Counter
Put a hundred in each tray—
We can tally them best that way.
Careful—do you understand
You have ten men in your hand?
There’s another fallen—there—
Under that chair.

{THE BEARER finds and restores it.}

That was a man a month ago;
He could we and feel and know.
Then, into his throat there sped
A bit of lead.
Blood was salt in his mouth; he fell
And lay amid the battle wreck.
Nothing was left but this metal check—
And a wife and child, perhaps.

{THE BEARER finds the bag on his arm troublesome. He holds it up, inspecting it.}

The Bearer
What can one do with a thing like this?
Neither of life nor death it is!
For the dead serve not, though it served the dead.
The wounds it carried were wide and red,
Yet they stained it not. Can a man put food,
Potatoes or wheat, or even wood
That is kind and burns with a flame to warm
Living men who are comforted—
In a thing that has served so many dead?
There is no thrift in a graveyard dress,
It’s been shroud for too many men.
I’ll burn it and let the dead bless.

{He crosses himself and throws it into the fire. He watches it burn. THE COUNTER continues to pile up the metal checks, and drop them by hundreds into the trays which he piles one upon another. THE BEARER turns from the fire and speaks more slowly than before. He indicates the metal checks.}

Would not the blood of these make a great sea
For men to sail their ships on? It may be
No fish would swim in it, and the foul smell
Would make the sailors sick. Perhaps in Hell
There’s some such lake for men who rush to war
Prating of glory, and upon the shore
Will stand the wives and children and old men
Bereft, to drive them back again
When they seek haven. Some such thing
I thought the while I bore it on my back
And heard the metal pieces clattering.

The Counter
Four score—five score—
These and as many more.
Forward—march!—into the tray!
No bugles blow today,
No captains lead the way;
But mothers and wives,
Fathers, sisters, little sons,
Count the cost
Of the lost;
And we count the unlived lives,
The forever unborn ones
Who might have been your sons.

The Bearer
Could not the hands of these rebuild
That which has been destroyed?
Oh, the poor hands! that once were strong and filled
With implements of labor whereby they
Served home and country through the peaceful day.
When those who made the war stand face to face
With these slain soldiers in that unknown place
Whither the dead go, what will be the word
By dead lips spoken and by dead ears heard?
Will souls say King or Kaiser? Will souls prate
Of earthly glory in that new estate?

The Counter
One hundred thousand—
One hundred and fifty thousand—
Two hundred—

The Bearer
Can this check plough?
Can it sow? can it reap?
Can we arouse it?
Is it asleep?

Can it hear when a child cries?—
Comfort a wife?
This little metal disk
Stands for a life.

Can this check build,
Laying stone upon stone?
Once it was warm flesh
Folded on bone.

Sinew and muscle firm,
Look at it—can
This little metal check
Stand for a man?

The Counter
One—two—three—four—