Indignity Even Unto Death

After a hectic couple of days performing seasonal errands and tasks (wrestling with the tree, shopping, wrapping presents, stringing lights, squeezing in our yearly jaunt to Longwood Gardens in Chadds Ford, PA), I was trying to figure out whether or not I should write an appreciation of Richard Pryor and/or Eugene McCarthy, try to decipher the latest legal maneuvers in the Valerie Plame matter (are Rove and his lawyers going to find a way to drag EVERY MSM journo who had some familiarity with her into this mess in an attempt to save Rove's sorry butt, or is Viveca Novak the end of the line?), or comment on N.J. governor-elect Jon Corzine's "business as usual" appointment of Robert Menendez to complete his term in the U.S. Senate, bypassing other worthy candidates such as Rush Holt and Nia Gill, with the appointment of either Holt or Gill sending a message that Corzine intends to put forward a boldly different agenda than some "cookie cutter" wish list handed to him by traditional Democratic special interest constituencies in that state (and on a wholly unrelated note, I should point out that James Wolcott's latest post on the dear MSM is a "must read," by the way - hat tip to Atrios).

And then I read this (via Atrios also...that God this guy can do the digging that he does).

Imagine that you have raised a child from an infant to a fumbling toddler, playing with anything he or she can get their hands on, then to the point where they are a boy or girl settling into a school routine playing with toys guns or hiding in a woods pretending to be on "patrol," then to the point where they are a pre-teenager and they get it into their heads that they have the praiseworthy goal of serving our country in the military, possibly following in the footsteps of a family member, and as a parent or other family member you support this young man or woman by any means available to you until they graduate from high school, and then they may either complete a two or four-year degree or choose not to pending completion of service, and then they get sent off to fight a war for reasons that have shifted like specs of sand in the wind and, God forbid, they are killed.

All of the sacrifice. The late nights sitting up with them while they recover from a sickness or a bad dream. The celebration of their school or extra-curricular accomplishments. Summers at the shore, sports outings, concerts with them, or the first time at the circus. The silly jokes, the pillow fights...the hurts and bitter, angry tears. The parent-teacher conferences, the last-minute school projects. The debt, requiring a second or even a third job or assistance from family members. Trying not to lose your mind the first night they're out driving a car after they get their license. The first date or prom. All of the prayers, and hopes, and dreams of the future.

And you get a phone call telling you that they're dead, and all of their dreams die with them (and yours).

And the government in whose name they lost their lives can't even respect them enough to treat their remains properly (to say nothing of the fact that the Secretary of Defense can't even sign the letters notifying the parents of the deaths of their children).

Never forget who brought this all to you. Never forget who is responsible for the greatest strategic blunder in American history.

Impeachment should only be the tip of the proverbial iceberg here. Truly investigating, prosecuting, and sentencing those responsible could take years.

Let it take those years. Those who have died deserve no less.

Update 12/13: I kept reading this great post from David Sirota and trying to find a way to disagree with him, but I couldn't.