The women I grew up around never had to explain what they meant when they said “the war.” Whether it was World War II, Vietnam, Desert Storm, or Bosnia, everyone at my grandmother’s kitchen table already knew. Their shorthand was born of loss, resilience, and a bond forged by sacrifice. Years later, I swore my life would be different—that I’d never marry a soldier, never find myself living in the shadow of conflict. But after 9/11, fate proved me wrong. Now, like the women before me, I speak of life “before the war” and “after the war.” The memories, anniversaries, and grief remain part of daily life—reminders not just of what was lost, but of what could have been.

At a Gold Star Memorial in my hometown, I reflect on what we’ve lost to the war—and how to honor his memory and the future he will never see. It’s a solemn reminder that, despite the weight of our pain, we are called to respond with responsibility, courage, and a commitment to one another. Twenty years of war, thousands of lives lost, and a chaotic withdrawal beg the question: where do we go from here?