[Special thanks to Screwy Hoolie, who videotaped this story at YearlyKos and YouTubed it. He's amazing! And if you haven't visited his blog, Scrutiny Hooligans, then the terrorists have already won.]
It's hard to know where to begin this diary, except to start with Februry 2003, when my granddaughter Leyla was born. I went to San Diego to be with my daughter, who was stationed three in the U.S. Navy, serving aboard a marine troop carrier. Leyla's father had already gone to Afghanistan and Diego Garcia four months earlier. My daughter had a difficult C-section with complications, so she and tiny warbling Leyla came home to North Carolina with me for a few weeks to recover.
When Leyla was five weeks old, the U.S. invaded Iraq. When Leyla was six weeks old, we bundled her up and brought her along to Norfolk Naval Base and said goodbye to her mom.
Her mother has never really come home.
Leyla has said goodbye to her mom and her dad many times in these 4-1/2 years of her life. Far too many.
She's seen her dad (who's a terrific person!) maybe five times in the past 4-1/2 years. She just said goodbye to him again on August 9, as he's being transferred out of Great Lakes Naval Station and back to the Pacific. We hope she'll see him again this winter.
However, Leyla's seen her mom quite a bit since her mom received a medical discharge from the U.S. Navy about a year and a half ago after she was injured in a rescue operation at sea. But Leyla can't spent much time with her mom, who has attempted suicide twice and been in a psychiatric hospital for weeks on end because she can no longer cope with life. Leyla's mom has a mild brain injury, and sometimes she can't contain the rage and desperation she feels when she's stressed. It's no longer safe for Leyla to stay with her for more than a day or so.
And we're the lucky ones.
Leyla is a fiesty, sunny preschooler who can not only a carry a tune but deliver it on time and in key. She recently compiled her first mix CD from the music we've been collecting: "Walk the Dinosaur," Billie Holliday, Louis Armstrong, Chenille Sisters, Eric Clapton's "Leyla," Michelle Shocked, "Rock Lobster," and "You Get a Line and I'll Get a Pole," and a smattering of "Lejla/Leila/Leyla" songs from Balkan, Arabic, and Turkish singers.
She has incredible compassion. One night my teenage daughter Sibel and Leyla and I were cringing through a bad thunderstorm. Sibel was gasping and startling with each clap of thunder, but Leyla put her arms around Sibel and leaned in close to Sibel's ear and soothed, "Oh, it's going to be alright, Sibel. Don't worry. We've got paper towels." Then she led a very puzzled Sibel by the hand into the kitchen, climbed up on a stool to get a roll of paper towels, and scooted back to the bedroom. She told Sibel to open the windowblinds, then said, "See? It's going to be alright." And she took a paper towel and wiped it along the window. "If the rain comes in, we'll wipe it and it will go away. I'll help you."
I love spending time with Leyla. She's a hoot! That girl has more sparkle in her than a quasar. But, you know, I wanted to be her grandmother -- I mean, can't you see me, with my apple-dumply cheeks and chins, baking her chocolate chip cookies and knitting her slippersocks? I wasn't expecting to be looking at elementary schools for her, driving her visit to visit her mother at the psychiatric hospital, taking her to the WIC office so we can get coupons for cheese and cereal.
Instead I'm working two full-time jobs, seven days a week, 80 hours every single week. One job pays for my household expenses, my daughter Sibel's university tuition, and Leyla's care (her dad sends generous child support that covers preschool and clothing); the other job helps support my Navy vet daughter as she struggles with one class a semester at the local community college.
I took a week off to attend YearlyKos, and fortunately Leyla's dad is currently at Great Lakes Naval Station, so it worked out perfectly for her to spend time with him while I hobnobbed with the bloggerati. But before August 2, I hadn't had a single day off work -- not a Saturday or a Sunday or the Friday I underwent a minor surgical procedure on my heart -- since the beginning of May. My next day off might be in October or November, unless Leyla or I get sick.
I support the troops, alright. I support three generations of a family being pulled apart at the seams because the Bush administration sent Leyla's parents off to invade and occupy Afghanistan and Iraq -- illegally, immorally, inadequately protected, at the mercy of improper planning, unsupported, overstretched, overworked, and underpaid.
And here's the crazy thing: we're the lucky ones. We're the ones whose military family members have come home at all. I cannot imagine the horror and pain of many others, whose family members have not returned, or who may return as hollow shadows of the men and women they once were. Or the anguish and ruined lives of the millions of little girls and boys in Iraq and Afghanistan, who are definitely not as lucky as we are. My God. We're the lucky ones.
Oh, I support the troops. Donald Rumsfeld quit. George Tenet quit. Karl Rove quit. Andrew Card and Ari Fleischer quit. Colin Powell and Richard Armitage quit. John Ashcroft quit. Leyla and I won't be quitting. She's stuck in the job those men put her in: being the child of parents who weren't there on her first birthday or her second or her third, being the grandchild of a middle-aged woman who works every goddamned day to keep her promises. We won't quit.
This Democrat supports the troops, alright. And I'll be supporting them at the ballot box next November when I vote for the people who will bring them home, care for their wounds, help with their transition to civilian life, find them jobs with livable wages, and make sure their children -- children like Leyla -- are attending healthy schools.
It'll be alright, you know. We can do this, Leyla and I. We've got paper towels.