Team Infidel
Forum Spin Doctor
Washington Post
November 24, 2006
Pg. 1
Sergeant Sees the Light After Year of Emotional, Family Turmoil
By Donna St. George, Washington Post Staff Writer
When they called her name, she could not move. Sgt. Leana Nishimura intended to walk up proudly, shake the dignitaries' hands and accept their honors for her service in Iraq-- a special coin, a lapel pin, a glass-encased U.S. flag.
But her son clung to her leg. He cried and held tight, she recalled. And so Nishimura stayed where she was, and the ceremony last summer went on without her. T.J. was 9, her oldest child, and although eight months had passed since she had returned from the war zone, he was still upset by anything that reminded him of her deployment.
He remembered the long separation. The faraway move to live with his grandmother. The months that went by without his mother's kisses or hugs, without her scrutiny of homework, her teasing humor, her familiar bedtime songs.
Nishimura was a single mother -- with no spouse to take over, to preserve her children's routines, to keep up the family apartment.
Of her three children, T.J. seemed to worry most. He sent letter after letter to the war zone, where she was a communications specialist, part of the Maryland National Guard.
"He went from having one parent to having no parents, basically," Nishimura said, reflecting, "People have said, 'Thank you so much for your sacrifice.' But it's the children who have had more of a sacrifice."
When war started in Iraq, a generation of U.S. women became involved as never before-- in a wider-than-ever array of jobs, for long deployments, in a conflict with daily bloodshed. More than 155,000 women have served in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Among their ranks are more than 16,000 single mothers, according to the Pentagon, a number that military experts say is unprecedented.
How these women have coped and how their children are managing have gone little-noticed as the war stretches across a fourth year.
"It has to be one of the hardest things that a mom and her children have to go through," said Steven Mintz, a University of Houston professor with an expertise in family life. "You can't cuddle a young child over the phone, and you can't cuddle a child through e-mail."
In the military, parental status is not a barrier to serving in a war. All deploy when the call comes -- single mothers, single fathers, married couples -- relying on a "family-care plan" that designates a caregiver for children when parents are gone.
The thinking is that a soldier is a soldier. "Everyone trains to a standard of readiness and must be able to be mobilized," said Lt. Col. Mike Milord of the National Guard Bureau.
But war duty can be especially difficult for single parents. A year ago, Nishimura returned to the United States to face practical difficulties. Emotional issues. And unavoidable questions concerning her children: Will there be another deployment? What if a parent does not come back?
Home, but Still Apart
On a cool, dusky Saturday evening last November, her bus arrived at the red brick Maryland National Guard Armory in Towson. There were yellow ribbons and welcome-home banners. A crowd of supporters cheered and cried.
One soldier walked off the bus and kissed the ground.
Nishimura fell into the embrace of two friends who had come to meet her, but she felt disconnected from the emotion of the moment. Instead, she noticed a friend who had returned on the same bus -- and was now hugging her husband and son.
She wondered: When would she see her own children?
Before Iraq, Nishimura had worked as a teacher and cheerleading coach at a Christian school in Prince George's County. Her National Guard duty, with the 129th Signal Battalion, brought in extra money. Her ex-husband paid child support. Still, she only scraped by, with the help of public assistance.
Now her life was like a puzzle with missing pieces.
Her children -- Cheyenne, then 3; Dylan, then 6; and T.J., then 7 -- were in Hawaii, being cared for by their grandmother. Nishimura did not have the money to fly them back. She had no home for them, either, having long ago given up her apartment.
As she got off the bus, she could not help but dwell on one fact of timing: Christmas was 50 days away. Would they be together for the holiday?
She was heartened by a good lead on a full-time contracting job with the National Guard. But there was a glitch: It would mean relocating to Havre de Grace, Md., more than 90 miles from her home in Waldorf.
If she got the job, she had decided, the family would move there.
For the kids, the move to her mother's house in Hawaii had meant new schools, new friends and a new caregiver with a high-rise apartment and a full-time job. Nishimura's 3-year-old daughter seemed to have the toughest time, said grandmother Cynthia Nishimura. She cried at night and at day care.
Unable to grasp the concept of a faraway war, the girl had absorbed only her mother's mode of transportation. "Mommy works on an airplane," she told people.
Her brothers knew more. T.J., in particular, knew that Iraq was dangerous. For a time, he watched war coverage on television. He saw the violence, heard about casualties. Finally, his grandmother banned the news.
The Essential Phone Calls
In Iraq, Nishimura was attached to a soft flannel pillow adorned with the faces of her three children. "God's gifts," it read. "This is why I Fight!" She hugged it at night, even packing it in her duffle bag when she left the base.
As often as she could, she talked to her children by phone, and they had a ritual: At the end of every call, they counted one, two, three -- and then made noisy kisses in unison.
Now she was back in the United States, still clutching the pillow and talking on her cellphone, the children still thousands of miles away.
In a matter of weeks, Nishimura landed the job in Havre de Grace and found a little duplex to rent -- with wood floors and a big picture window -- using all that she had to cover the rent and security deposit.
There was a little yard. The public school was down the block.
On the day her new telephone service was connected, Nishimura called her children. Then the phone rang.
"Hi, Mommy," her oldest son said.
Her middle child called next.
"Hi, Mommy," he said.
The phone rang again.
"Mommy, I wanted to call you, too," her daughter announced.
Nishimura assured them that they would be together soon.
Some days, she wondered how.
For airline tickets, she had pinned her hopes on the well-known charitable program Operation Hero Miles, which donates airline miles to U.S. service members.
It was only in late November that she learned the program was geared to hospitalized troops and their families. She and her children did not qualify.
Nishimura then took heart when fellow guardsmen offered to donate miles to her -- only to learn that airlines would not allow such mileage transfers.
At 29 years old, she had no credit cards, she said, having badly damaged her credit in the financial turmoil of her divorce. While in Iraq, she sent her earnings to her mother for her children's care.
"I'm pretty discouraged," she admitted one afternoon four weeks after she flew home.
November 24, 2006
Pg. 1
Sergeant Sees the Light After Year of Emotional, Family Turmoil
By Donna St. George, Washington Post Staff Writer
When they called her name, she could not move. Sgt. Leana Nishimura intended to walk up proudly, shake the dignitaries' hands and accept their honors for her service in Iraq-- a special coin, a lapel pin, a glass-encased U.S. flag.
But her son clung to her leg. He cried and held tight, she recalled. And so Nishimura stayed where she was, and the ceremony last summer went on without her. T.J. was 9, her oldest child, and although eight months had passed since she had returned from the war zone, he was still upset by anything that reminded him of her deployment.
He remembered the long separation. The faraway move to live with his grandmother. The months that went by without his mother's kisses or hugs, without her scrutiny of homework, her teasing humor, her familiar bedtime songs.
Nishimura was a single mother -- with no spouse to take over, to preserve her children's routines, to keep up the family apartment.
Of her three children, T.J. seemed to worry most. He sent letter after letter to the war zone, where she was a communications specialist, part of the Maryland National Guard.
"He went from having one parent to having no parents, basically," Nishimura said, reflecting, "People have said, 'Thank you so much for your sacrifice.' But it's the children who have had more of a sacrifice."
When war started in Iraq, a generation of U.S. women became involved as never before-- in a wider-than-ever array of jobs, for long deployments, in a conflict with daily bloodshed. More than 155,000 women have served in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Among their ranks are more than 16,000 single mothers, according to the Pentagon, a number that military experts say is unprecedented.
How these women have coped and how their children are managing have gone little-noticed as the war stretches across a fourth year.
"It has to be one of the hardest things that a mom and her children have to go through," said Steven Mintz, a University of Houston professor with an expertise in family life. "You can't cuddle a young child over the phone, and you can't cuddle a child through e-mail."
In the military, parental status is not a barrier to serving in a war. All deploy when the call comes -- single mothers, single fathers, married couples -- relying on a "family-care plan" that designates a caregiver for children when parents are gone.
The thinking is that a soldier is a soldier. "Everyone trains to a standard of readiness and must be able to be mobilized," said Lt. Col. Mike Milord of the National Guard Bureau.
But war duty can be especially difficult for single parents. A year ago, Nishimura returned to the United States to face practical difficulties. Emotional issues. And unavoidable questions concerning her children: Will there be another deployment? What if a parent does not come back?
Home, but Still Apart
On a cool, dusky Saturday evening last November, her bus arrived at the red brick Maryland National Guard Armory in Towson. There were yellow ribbons and welcome-home banners. A crowd of supporters cheered and cried.
One soldier walked off the bus and kissed the ground.
Nishimura fell into the embrace of two friends who had come to meet her, but she felt disconnected from the emotion of the moment. Instead, she noticed a friend who had returned on the same bus -- and was now hugging her husband and son.
She wondered: When would she see her own children?
Before Iraq, Nishimura had worked as a teacher and cheerleading coach at a Christian school in Prince George's County. Her National Guard duty, with the 129th Signal Battalion, brought in extra money. Her ex-husband paid child support. Still, she only scraped by, with the help of public assistance.
Now her life was like a puzzle with missing pieces.
Her children -- Cheyenne, then 3; Dylan, then 6; and T.J., then 7 -- were in Hawaii, being cared for by their grandmother. Nishimura did not have the money to fly them back. She had no home for them, either, having long ago given up her apartment.
As she got off the bus, she could not help but dwell on one fact of timing: Christmas was 50 days away. Would they be together for the holiday?
She was heartened by a good lead on a full-time contracting job with the National Guard. But there was a glitch: It would mean relocating to Havre de Grace, Md., more than 90 miles from her home in Waldorf.
If she got the job, she had decided, the family would move there.
For the kids, the move to her mother's house in Hawaii had meant new schools, new friends and a new caregiver with a high-rise apartment and a full-time job. Nishimura's 3-year-old daughter seemed to have the toughest time, said grandmother Cynthia Nishimura. She cried at night and at day care.
Unable to grasp the concept of a faraway war, the girl had absorbed only her mother's mode of transportation. "Mommy works on an airplane," she told people.
Her brothers knew more. T.J., in particular, knew that Iraq was dangerous. For a time, he watched war coverage on television. He saw the violence, heard about casualties. Finally, his grandmother banned the news.
The Essential Phone Calls
In Iraq, Nishimura was attached to a soft flannel pillow adorned with the faces of her three children. "God's gifts," it read. "This is why I Fight!" She hugged it at night, even packing it in her duffle bag when she left the base.
As often as she could, she talked to her children by phone, and they had a ritual: At the end of every call, they counted one, two, three -- and then made noisy kisses in unison.
Now she was back in the United States, still clutching the pillow and talking on her cellphone, the children still thousands of miles away.
In a matter of weeks, Nishimura landed the job in Havre de Grace and found a little duplex to rent -- with wood floors and a big picture window -- using all that she had to cover the rent and security deposit.
There was a little yard. The public school was down the block.
On the day her new telephone service was connected, Nishimura called her children. Then the phone rang.
"Hi, Mommy," her oldest son said.
Her middle child called next.
"Hi, Mommy," he said.
The phone rang again.
"Mommy, I wanted to call you, too," her daughter announced.
Nishimura assured them that they would be together soon.
Some days, she wondered how.
For airline tickets, she had pinned her hopes on the well-known charitable program Operation Hero Miles, which donates airline miles to U.S. service members.
It was only in late November that she learned the program was geared to hospitalized troops and their families. She and her children did not qualify.
Nishimura then took heart when fellow guardsmen offered to donate miles to her -- only to learn that airlines would not allow such mileage transfers.
At 29 years old, she had no credit cards, she said, having badly damaged her credit in the financial turmoil of her divorce. While in Iraq, she sent her earnings to her mother for her children's care.
"I'm pretty discouraged," she admitted one afternoon four weeks after she flew home.