Last week the Associated Press reported that the US death toll in Iraq had reached 4,000. We, as well a number of other media outlets, reported this fact.

4,000

I can say in all confidence that I did not know any of those who died. I know some of the names and have close friends who have been to more than their fair share of military funerals; however, none of the 4,000 was ever my close friend. I am relieved by this, and shamed by it at the same time.

In the words of Joseph Stalin, "A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic."

It seems this 4,000 is a statistic.

The number itself doesn't carry any real meaning other than the fact that it is just that, a number. We hardly paused when the death toll hit 3,999, but for some reason one more family ripped in two gave the war and the price paid by our troops national significance again.

Recently I visited with a family in Killeen. The husband, a soldier in the First Cavalry Division, was injured during the opening year of the war. His hum-vee was being towed when a roadside bomb hit it. In that instant he lost two friends and became scarred for life; the 4,000 mean something very real to him.

A friend of mine, a pilot in the Army, buried one of his best friends, a fellow pilot killed in the war. The 4,000 mean something very real to him.

I have been to Fort Hood's two Iraq War Memorials. I have seen family members and widows cry as their loved ones names' were added to the stone and bronze memorials. I have seen enlisted soldiers, commissioned officers and even generals weep openly as one more young man or woman was remembered in a chapel service on post. Yet, the 4,000 do not mean what they should to me.

Each of the 4,000 had a family. Each had plans for the next day. Each had someone at home waiting for him or her to make it back safely. Each is a life that was cut short.

Currently, the number of US dead is closer to 4,007. I pray it doesn't reach 4,008, but that seems like a tragic inevitability.

I write this not to chastise but to try and express my frustration at the level of malaise that sets in over me when I read or see news about the war. Day to day the war doesn't reach me… maybe it should.

To those who this war has touched in a way that I can never truly understand I find my own words escaping. Instead I close with the words of Pericles, "Freedom is the sure possession of those alone who have the courage to defend it."