They were young. They have died. Remember them.

The young dead soldiers do not speak.
Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses:
who has not heard them?
They have a silence that speaks for them at night
and when the clock counts.
They say: We were young. We have died.
Remember us.
They say: We have done what we could
but until it is finished it is not done.
They say: We have given our lives but until it is finished
no one can know what our lives gave.
They say: Our deaths are not ours: they are yours,
they will mean what you make them.
They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for
peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say,
it is you who must say this.
We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.
We were young, they say. We have died; remember us.

by Archibald MacLeish

He is my brother and we miss him very much.

Pointing to her daughter, Amy Koch said, "Be sure to say that she's going to know how proud we are of her dad, how he was a hero."

"He told me he wanted to give someone else a break who was married and had a family," said his uncle, Charles Skelton.

"Danny wasn't always the guy who lived in an abundance of stuff that you could hold in your hand or keep in your pocket, that guy carried more heart in him than any of our friends carry or I carry and I'll always be proud to call him my friend."

Jeff Parker said, "He was always that guy you could cry with."

"I literally fell to my knees," Chardell Howell, his older sister, said as she recalled her reaction to news of his death.

The last time DeWayne White called home from Iraq, his mother was staring at a crimson sunset unlike any she had ever seen.

"Baby, you should see this sky," Sandra Miller told her eldest soldier son. "It's so beautiful. I wish you were here to share this with me."

They talked a few minutes more about nothing in particular. Then White signed off as with a trademark "see ya" and his breathy, staccato laugh.

"I can hear his laughter," Miller said, her eyes puffy and bloodshot. "I hope I don't lose that sound."

His wife said, "Ben was a good man with a good heart. I was so proud of him and everything he has done with his life."

"There was a knock at the door. Angela was the first to the door, and the next thing I heard, she goes 'He died,' " recalled John Nelson, 49, of Rochester, the slain soldier's father.

Diane Beausang taught Boris and Jaime ninth grade science.

"He was shooting for the stars," Beausang said. "The men in his company, you know they were lucky to have him. He was everything the military could have hoped for. This is a huge loss."

American Samoa Congressman Faleomavaega Eni also offered his "personal condolences" to the Tumanuvao family, especially his wife, Selia and two young children.

"Sergeant Lui Tumanuvao was a father, a son, a hero who gave his life for all to live in peace. His bravery and commitment is an example of why we celebrate our veterans for their service and sacrifice for our country," he said.

"You think about it, you dream about it, you've discussed it with your son or daughter when they go in the service, but when those men in the green suits come to your door, you know it's really there, and I think that is the worst thing any mother or any father ever has to face," Sue Frihart said.

"I didn't want him to go," says Taylor, 52, a widow who lives in Cameron Park. "Being my only son, he didn't have to go to the front lines. I didn't want him doing that."

"She touched everyone's lives and everything about her was positive," her fiance, Juan Casiano, said from her mother's home in Pennsauken, New Jersey. "She always carried a smile."

They were young.  They are dead.  Remember them.