I Hear Your Story; I Feel Your Pain
When the initial outcry against going to war in Iraq came forth, did the supporters really know how far reaching a war becomes? Today, Paul Johnson. How much more do we endure? If it chills me to my soul, how steeped in sorrow is his family?

And Nick Berg. And a prison guard with leash and collar on an inmate; who knows how many other indignities were suffered. And rows of flag-draped caskets we weren't supposed to see. Former football player, Pat Tillman. Those four contractors left on the bridge. Daniel Pearl. Journalists couldn't ignore these atrocities. Too bad we can't give face time to all the war dead, wounded and lost. Too bad we even consider it. What is it, 600 dead? 700 dead now? Let's zip through a modicum of respect via the media, then we can resume rah-rahing the economy, or bashing anyone who's not following the party line. But try not to forget that when you see Paul Johnson's family ripe with grief, and as sad as it is, those other 600 or 700 have thousands of tear-stained family members still grieving for their collective loss.

I imagine Casualty #305's wife has been in the fetal position since March. So grief-striken, she's been hospitalized and force-fed with iv's to keep her alive.
I imagine Casualty #612 - A sister sleeps in her car outside the cemetary in Iraq where her brother's remains are buried. The groundskeeper keeps a watchful eye on her for her family.
I imagine Casualty #183 - A teenage son has survived two suicide attempts. He wants to join his slain soldier father in heaven long before his time.

Fiction imaginings, but the probabilities abound. Each war victim has a story. Try to hear it if you can.