Three years have passed. We can count the dead, the wounded, and the babies, but we can never count everything that died with them.
Birthdays that never came, first words never spoken, steps never taken, homes that could have remained full of life, and lives that should have stretched beyond a date written on a death certificate.
The numbers tell us how much we have lost, but they cannot tell us what could have been.
Perhaps this is war’s cruelest loss: all the life that could have been lived, but never was.
