I remember the spring before the Crawford summer well. We had received word that the Wisconsin National Guard unit that two of our sons belonged to was being federalized. Their mission: convoy security, driving around in Humvees keeping the transport safe. In the event, one son drove over 50,000 miles during his deployment. Lifelong Democrats and Catholics  who took the Pope’s and US Catholic Bishop’s anti-war statements seriously, we were at a loss at how to proceed. We knew that military families did not often speak out, at least not against those who held the lives of their children in their power.

That June, our 19 year old son went to Mississippi for training and was scheduled to be deployed in August. His newly wed older brother was not deployed with him, but went with another unit a couple months later. Due to training and deployment, that son spent only six months of the first two years of his marriage with his wife.

This is the point where Cindy Sheehan enters my life. A mother who had lost her son, a fate we feared and knew was a real possibility. A Catholic lay minister (as is my wife), but someone who had taken action. Her actions were also in the best tradition of Catholic action and non-violence. We had little hope that by taking arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, that we would end them, but we knew that we had to stand with her.

A couple years earlier, we had traveled to Germany to see friends. It was painful to watch them as they took us to Dachau. Later I visited a very elderly relative (my grandmother’s first cousin). She has been in contact with our family until after WWII, when contact ceased. She asked me if I knew why and I think I did. I couldn’t tell the nice old lady, but I know that my grandmother was beyond appalled by the concentration camps, that a country and relatives she held dear could have done such things. I was resolved not to be a "good German" and just go along quietly.

We watched out 19 year old fly off for Iraq, canceled our vacation plans, flew to Dallas, rented a van and headed off to Crawford. When  we got there, Cindy had gone back to her home to deal with her mother’s stroke, but the camp (now with a big tent) was alive with her presence. Other Gold Star mom were there and the redoubtable Ann, who ran the camp with true compassion.  Being able to witness with them  was healing, though we felt a little selfish. We were there to deal with the chaos and powerlessness in our lives and didn’t feel that we had much to give back.

After a couple of days, Cindy returned to great media hoopla. At one point, a group of gold star moms went out to lay flowers on the crosses that had been placed at the camp. One of the reporters yelled out to one of the gold star moms to get out of the way since she was ruining his shot of Cindy (I have that on tape). Talk about a test of one’s peacefulness. Clearly the media was on no one’s side but their own. I didn’t have a chance to talk to Cindy but my wife did. All too soon we had to return to our life. Our vacation time was gone.

I doubt Cindy or any one of importance at the camp took much notice of us, nor did we seek such notice. But our time there gave us strength to go back and face another deployment ceremony, this time with a young (and not yet announced pregnant) daughter-in-law. We wrote letters to newspapers and politicians. Like Cindy, I am unsure they accomplish anything, but I did them because I needed to, not because I thought they would work. In any case, they could not work in time to help my sons, who were already deployed.

So to Cindy and the others who have been the face of the anti-war movement, I say: Thank you. You have the power to move people that you don’t even meet and to change lives that you don’t see. You are peacemakers and God will bless you. Not with wealth or health or power, but with something better and more powerful. Go with my thanks and gratitude. You will always be in my prayers for the good you have done.