From the Homefront: Excerpts from a Mother’s Diary
Why Mothers Cry – March 27, 2003
As a mother I know that when our children feel pain, we too feel that pain. We can honestly say there is a tugging inside as we calm and clean our child and his wound. Maybe that’s why mothers cry.
As a woman we have a sensitive part in us, just as the mother does. We care for another. We can honestly say there is pain inside when we see the anguish of others. Maybe that’s why we cry.
As a young girl, instincts form inside of us to protect and care for our baby dolls. When someone tries to hurt or steal them, the little girl can honestly say she will fight for that doll for it is real to her. Maybe that’s why little girls cry.
A military mom wants to use all of that which has grown inside of her. We have the instinct to protect, and the will to fight for our children. The care and concern for others is unending, and our hands want to reach out to hold someone in pain. We want to calm and clean our child’s wounds.
We stand strong. Maybe that’s why we cry for each other.
April 2003
I am constantly scanning the television screen for a glimpse of my soldier. Will I recognize him? Internet pictures of soldiers and marines are being passed back and forth. I carefully scan each to find my son, Kenny. After all, the last time I saw his boy’s face was December 27, 2002.
April 7, 2003
Well, today was a tough day for me. There were too many thoughts in my head and it was very hard to concentrate. I just wanted to yell out to everyone wherever I was that I was sad, but proud. I’m worried but have faith, and I am filled with love for all of my children but my son is being “borrowed” right now.
I also feel like I’m going through a little anxiety, not being able to hear his voice or hug him, just in case he is a little scared— although he says he’s not.
Just when I thought my sadness would overwhelm me, I came home to two letters from Kuwait. The letters were written on March 15th and 18th but it made my heart jump to have another connection. His requests were few—cheap cigarettes, snacks, powdered Gatorade, and then he wrote, “Oh yeah, beef jerky.” I think everyone I know sent him a huge package of beef jerky. He had not heard from me yet. Darn mail takes so long.
In his March 18th letter, he wrote the poem of being a soldier, and then he wrote: “This will be the last letter for awhile. If you do not hear from me, don’t be scared; I am safe. The time has come for me to do my job, and I will do it well. Just remember I love you and will be coming home.” He added, “They better be pretty damn strong to take this rock off its hill. They better have kryptonite to take me down along with my tank crew and unit. Just stay strong, Mom; don’t get down. Remember, I am the one over here and I’m not scared or nervous, so you shouldn’t be. I love you and miss you; see you soon.”
April 26, 2003
I received a letter dated 29, March 2003. He writes: “Last week at 10:00 a.m. we crossed the Iraqi border. On 22, March 2003, at 1:30 a.m., we made history as the first unit to cross the Euphrates River. My platoon was the first platoon across.”
They hadn’t had any direct fire incidents yet, (a good sentence to read), but he wrote that he sees combat coming shortly. Today they will be getting attached to the 101st Airborne Division.”
He had not received any letters or packages and that broke my heart. He also wrote, “Iraq is like being at the ocean, minus the water.” At least, he still has his great sense of humor. Oh, I just love to hear that kid laugh.
Another Soldier – July 30, 2003
Well, another soldier was killed in Iraq, another wait for families to hear if it was their soldier—another family with a broken heart , for the military will come to their door to notify them of their loss.
I’m so sorry for all of the families and am so grateful for them. They give us their children to take the bullet for family, friends and strangers. They are all our heroes.
Letter from Baghdad – August 15, 2003
Yesterday, I received a letter from Baghdad. It was dated July 29th. The contents were about four sentences. “Hi mom, this is a check for storage from my friend Bill, please pay August with it. I just talked to you the other day, so I have nothing much to write.”
I’ve noticed in my years that when a person goes away from us, we who are left behind are the ones who feel the pulling of the heartstrings more, and now I realize it’s under any circumstance. It could be leaving a job for a new one, college, vacation or, in this case, war and a peace mission.
I’m not saying they never want to return or don’t feel the longing for family, but those away know they’re okay, and it’s not imperative to call each day… just here and there.
Today, was the first beach day for the season for Bill and me. Hearing the wave’s splash and seeing the unending ocean and sky was incredible. Two little girls were building a sandcastle. It was quite a masterpiece. One of them was in charge and giving orders to the other for perfect construction. My mind’s eye brought me back fifteen years to my daughters on the beach… Christina and Colleen—how sweet the memory. Then a young teenage boy walked by with the same black and white swim trunks Ken would wear often. He had dark hair, thin and bony shoulders, and was carrying a body board. My thoughts went to Kenny.
Oftentimes, I hold back on excitement for fear it may end abruptly. As I sat there on the beach, I tried to imagine what Ken’s unit was doing. Were they using the spray bottles I sent, so that they could cool off? Maybe they have a shower now. Do they get to play anything? Listen to music?
It’s been so long since I’ve seen my soldier son. I never would have dreamed this in all my life, but I am so proud.
October 1, 2003
This evening I’m watching a special on Iraq. I cry once again. I miss Kenny, I miss the boy and young man I once knew and realize there is the possibility he may have a different outlook on life when he returns. He has been gone almost seven months. To some it might seem like nothing. To me it feels like an eternity. My heart aches today. I miss his face.
Last Night – Octotber 25, 2003
I asked Bill if the military lets the families know right away if their family member is missing or sick. He said, “Probably.”
So, I had a dream last night that Kenny called and said he was in Kuwait and didn’t know where, and I had to come and find him. It was something like “Where’s Waldo in the crowd?”
It has been nearly sixty days since I’ve spoken to Ken on the telephone; I did get a letter that was written September 30th and took seventeen days to get here; and it was thrilling, of course. But my heart is heavy, and I feel like I’m sinking with fear today.
This morning I checked my phone message at home from another location. The first three messages are the ones I’ve saved from Kenny. His first one that says “Hey mom, it’s me; I’m in Baghdad, just called to say hi and I love you” and two others.
As always, when going through the messages, I hit the number six to skip them so that I could hear the two new messages my machine told me I had. So, I thought I hit the number six key.
Later, when I went home to look at my caller ID to see if it was blinking, I noticed that I had no messages on my machine anymore; I accidentally erased all three of Kenny’s messages. I erased his voice that I so often listen to when I feel the need to hear it.
Today is a tough day.
Now a Specialist – November 10, 2003
Well, good Monday morning. And that it is. Private First Class Ken Jones is now Specialist Kenneth R. Jones. That is a promotion and he is quite proud. Once again I did not get to hear his voice in person but I did get a voicemail on my answering machine at home. I played it three times in a row and giggled. He called early Sunday morning and left me a message. He also called his dad who told me that Ken sounded much better this time than the last phone call.
Ken said it looks like February for them right now. Only thing is they might have to go back to Iraq in six months for another tour of duty there. We’ll cross that bridge when we approach it. They, at least, have something to look forward to and who knows? Maybe they’ll come home sooner.
If you write to Ken please be sure to write Spc. Kenneth R. Jones. He didn’t have much else to say. He couldn’t talk about the tank that rolled over the landmine… he wasn’t permitted. Packages should stop being sent by January.
Soon, I will talk to him but until then I have his voice back on the machine, and it sounds just like him: “Mom, pick up the phone, it’s me.” Gotta love em’.
Have a great day and say a prayer for yet another family who lost a soldier this morning.
No Delay – December 19, 2003
“Hi Mom” NO DELAY, YIPPEE! He is calling from a different phone where he was able to use a phone card.
“Hey buddy, how are you?” I responded in a quiet 12:20 a.m. voice, heart still pounding wildly from being awakened by a ringing telephone. I said, “Let me get my head together… what did I forget to ask the first phone call… oh yeah… did you get the cookies the girls baked?” Yes, he got them, and they were good.
Finally, after about three minutes, I congratulated the U.S. Military for the capture of the bad guy. “Yeah, pretty neat, Huh?” was Ken’s response, but I heard a slight smile in there, too. I asked if all the guys were jumping around with excitement over it. He said, “No, we just did our job; it’s why we are here.”
The conversation lasted about thirty-five minutes, I believe. He told me he does not really know when they will be home, probably mid-February, but the gunners and drivers of the tanks might have to stay two extra weeks; that they won’t all come home together as one company. The vehicles have to be prepared to turn them in and must be totally cleaned up.
Ken said, “No ambush this week but a lot of car bombs.” They have been working very long hours. In a forty-eight hour period they sleep a total of three to four hours.
In two of the car bomb incidents, the drivers were shot before the cars exploded. One car had one of those big things like an iron ball with spikes and a chain on it that they use on ships. It could have blown up an entire battleship. The other was filled, he said, with explosive devices. This just amazes me.
He had a PT test (Physical Training) he just barely passed; he had to do fifty push ups in two minutes to pass and that’s what he did, no more. He ran the two miles in just the right amount of time and also the exact amount of sit-ups. Imagine that; these guys that get three hours sleep at a time are expected still to be in tip top shape. Well, I’m sure, the military can’t have someone there who can’t run and carry another.
I asked him if we would see him say Happy Holidays on the Television. He said, “No, they don’t interview the dirty guys in grungy uniforms. Have you ever seen anything but a crisp uniform on the television?” This is true. For some reason, I thought the guys had a wardrobe, somewhere where they could change into special clothing. Guess that’s why also that Ken wasn’t a part of the Thanksgiving Dinner with the President.
Just imagine all the dirty guys walking in.
I hope this isn’t too long. It was a great conversation and I wanted to share.
Ken’s weight is good at about 166 lbs., so that made me happy. Tonight, Ken’s company will be going to the USO show, although, he didn’t want to go. I said, “Oh Ken, it will be fun. Robyn Williams was there the other day; I wonder who you will see.” He said, “I don’t want to go because it’s a far trip and we have to go in a Hum-V. I don’t want to travel in anything except my tank.” He heard my fears, I’m sure. I tried to control them and with a quiet meaningful voice I said, “I will say a special prayer.” He then said, “I’ll be fine and it will be fun.” They are probably told not to scare their mothers, huh?
Yell Out Loud! – February 20, 2004
Today is Friday, February 20, 2004. Hard to believe we are getting on an airplane in just five days and going to see that kid.
I was wondering if some of you can recall the time I wrote about wanting to tell everyone straight from the rooftops that my son was “over there” fighting in the war— that my son was a soldier and I was so darned proud of him.
I will never forget the day I walked through the grocery store, tears welling up in my eyes while thinking of Kenny and wondering how many other moms of soldiers were picking up special items for their sons and daughters, like foot powder, sun-block and cookies. That was a time when my tears shed were of pride, love, faith, and yet, fear.
As time went on, I found myself more comfortable. I think I was most afraid to talk because I would begin crying very hard and wouldn’t want to make others uncomfortable. Now I find myself not caring what anyone thinks. Wherever I am I happen to tell people: “My son is coming home from Iraq. He’s been there a year.”
A customer came into the marina. I didn’t know him at all. Suddenly I said, “I’m so excited. I have to tell you I’m flying to Kansas in a week to see my son. He’s a soldier.”
The dog sitter came by to meet us before the trip. I said, “Do you want to see the picture of my son and his unit?” What was he going to say? No?
I told the hairdresser why I was getting my hair trimmed. I told the employee at the tanning salon why we were there for tanning, too. I stopped by the collision place where Kenny used to work to make the announcement, as well.
I just can’t shut up about it.
People must be thinking, “Okay, this lady is whacked,” but I don’t care. I am whacked. I’m whacked with pride, love, faith and joy, and that is what the tears are for— this time.
Just wanted to share, I can hardly wait!
Joanne Paskewich: Mother of Sgt. Kenneth Jones, now resides with her husband Bill in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. They enjoy semi-retrement, sitting by the ocean while friends and family visit. Their new son-in-law, Kevin, returned from Iraq September 2007; he re-enlisted in the National Guard. “We thank God each day for all that we have.” Joanne remains with pride, a soldier’s mom.