"For our Freedom and Other Stuff" by Cindy Sheehan
Casey's boots in the American Friends' Service Committee
Exhibit: Eyes Wide Open
This weekend is the 13th Memorial Weekend since my son Casey was killed in another US war for profit and global domination.
Memorial weekend is a "double whammy" for me because not only am I assaulted with "red, white, blue," gross displays of nationalism, and proclamations of "we honor them because they made the ultimate sacrifice;" but Casey's birthday was May 29th and it always falls on our around Memorial Day. Although, now 38 years in the past, as a mother, the labor's struggle of bringing him into this world and the joy of the culmination of that hard work is still fresh in my mind. As soon as his head emerged from me, he was crying and all eight pounds and two ounces of him were perfect; Tears are pouring from my eyes thinking about it. My body fed and nourished him inside and outside the womb and his sweet spirit and cheerful presence fed and nourished my soul for 24 years until he was wrenched from me for evil purposes.
“I can’t kill anyone.”
Casey Sheehan on the eve of his deployment to Iraq
Thirty-one years ago today—May 29—my first child was born—a son. We named him “Casey” because we were huge baseball fans and it just seemed like such a fine Irish-American name. His middle name, Austin, is an old family name of mine.
I went into labor with Casey a week early and I was in labor with him (in those days, knowing the gender of the baby was not routine) all day on Memorial Day in 1979. The labor was not too harsh and he was born at exactly one hour and one minute past midnight.
Casey was just the first of four and along with his younger brother, Andrew, I promised my boys that they would never have to do to war. However, I think I was promising myself that I would never allow them to go to war.