FOUR-THOUSAND. Jesus. That amount of people could populate an entire town, for crying out loud.
I've worked for a few different newspapers across the state in the last five years - FIVE YEARS OF WAR, fyi - so I've been privy to spreading the news to communities, and familiar with military funerals and memorials and weeping families.
And every time I read about another soldier's death, I discover it was just a kid. I mean no belittling by use of the word "kid," because at 26, I consider myself a kid sometimes, but to read about 21- and 22-year-old soldiers getting killed by roadside bombs makes me angry.
How the hell does someone die at 22-years-old? It's not fair. They're young. They always have fiances or husbands or wives or children. A person isn't even old enough to rent a car at 22, so what makes it OK for them to die in war?
I realize nothing does. And people die all the time, especially in war. But damn.
The irrational part of me hates this war. The irrational me thinks it's a waste of time and life, especially when our own country is flailing. The irrational me blames our president, blames 9/11, blames ignorance.
If I were rational, I might view it differently. I might see the positive changes it's making in other countries. I might see the deaths of soldiers in a courageous light, instead of considering the countless deaths unnecessary losses of precious life.
But I'm irrational. In case you were wondering.