Oh, I think we still love death, still scramble to peek over the fences to catch a glimpse, but only when the dead is a young girl, killed horrifically nearly 10 years ago, who today still dances across our TV screens in make-up and dress-up as if she never left.

In the next instant comes the flash of the little girl's supposed killer, all cozy in his business-class seat, pate and duck on the menu, mere hours away from the sack lunches and shackles that await him.

We slurp it up. And incredibly, we beg for more.

But my eyes move farther down the news page. These days, that's where I find the stories that grip me most.

I am staring at one right now.

His name was Chris Sitton. He was 21, an Army specialist and medic with the 10th Mountain Division, only three years removed from graduation at Montrose High.

I didn't know him, but I know firsthand how he died. Only five months into his deployment to eastern Afghanistan, he was riding along in a supply convoy when the ground beneath his vehicle exploded.

He probably died straight away. At least that is my prayer.

His death likely won't make the evening news outside of Montrose. CNN and Fox won't plop a satellite truck outside his folks' home. They're too busy filming exteriors of a home in Boulder where the dead little girl's family hasn't lived in years.

I noticed Chris Sitton's story. I notice them all, and with each one, pray a little bit.

Honestly, it angers me some, maybe a lot.

I am not a proponent of just pulling up stakes and getting out of Iraq. If you have ever walked the nasty streets of that awful place, you know it can only become much worse should we just up and leave.

But what is the plan? Is there one for success?

"Stay the course" doesn't seem viable when the reality is that our heavily armed young men and women leave their bases every morning virtually powerless to stop the ground beneath them from exploding.

I have stood over the graves of some of the unlucky ones. I still hear from those who loved them. They write in some cases, I think, because I was among those who saw their sons alive after they did.

Some have become strident anti-war activists, sending e-mail with stories plucked from anti-administration Web sites.

Others detest the activism, in private conversations saying they would never entertain sullying their child's memory so.

I take no sides. A parent will grieve the way he or she will.

Chris Sitton was an Eagle Scout in Montrose, clearly a good kid likely eager to serve his country, to just do his bit.

The services are full of such young people, my experience tells me. And not one of them, I know instinctively and from seeing it, ever tried to beg off that last deadly patrol.

In the absence of an honest, workable plan, I grieve their passing even harder.

Juan Polino, you see, just called. He leaves a message about once a month now.

A sergeant in the 3rd Armored Cavalry when I met him in Iraq, he served two tours and knew 21 men who died there. He is now an Army National Guard recruiter in California.

He has moved back in with his mother and father, both of whom once confided they did not expect him to return to them from Iraq.

They call him every three hours or so now when he is not home.

He still awakes at 4 a.m., he says, goes outside and does "PT," Army lingo for physical training.

He thought it would be so great being back home, Juan Polino said, but in the months he has been back, it feels like anything but home.

It is often just him and his memories.

"My home is somewhere else," he says, almost whispering. "Everyone tells me how happy they are that I am back home, but I don't feel like this is home."

So he is considering rejoining the regular Army. He speaks with other soldiers from his old unit every other day. They tell him, he says, that another deployment is not far away. In conversation, he can barely stomach the idea of them going without him.

What of the multiple roadside bombs, the insurgent firefights he survived, I ask him. He says he doesn't care, that maybe that is what he is supposed to be doing.

"Every day," he says, when I finally ask how often he thinks of those he knew who died.

"Actually, very few moments pass when I don't think of them, especially Sgt. V (Staff Sgt. Justin Vasquez of Manzanola), of how many people's lives have changed and been devastated by his death."

It is why, he said, he calls the man's mother at least every other day. Just to check in on her.

"I still have dreams today about that guy," he says. "In them, he's still alive. It's harsh."

Everyday, I think of him, too.

So with each death that is reported, I read the story. In my mind, it should always be the top of the news.

These killings did not happen 10 years ago.

They are continuing.

And sadly, with each one, there is never an arrest, no arraignment, no business class, no pate or duck, no CNN truck.

Army Staff Sgt.
Mark Lawton
Craig – As soon as the snow melts in Craig, the new letters will go up on the outside of the American Legion post recently renamed for the 41- year-old National Guardsman who lived with his wife and two children in nearby Hayden. ''We've already bought the letters for the new name,'' said Mel Shockley, commander of the Mark Anthony Evans-Lawton Post No. 62. ''We wanted his name to live on,'' Shockley said, ''because he gave his life for this country.''
Moffat County (between Craig and Meeker) — At Colowyo Coal Co., each employee is assigned a silver dollar-sized brass tag emblazoned with a different number — a tradition that goes back to underground coal mines, where the ''chips'' were used to identify the worker in case of an accident. On the board where all the tags hang, they've replaced chip No. 266 with a white disc pasted with an American flag. ''His chip number was 266 and we retired it,'' said Sharon Bond, a site manager and friend. ''We didn't think there would be anyone good enough to wear Mark's number ever again.''
Lamar — Just off Main Street in Bicenten-nial Park, the newest bench in Lamar was dedicated by the men and women of the Colorado National Guard's 244th Engineer Battalion — the soldiers who went to Iraq to build shelter for their fellow troops and found themselves driving through the middle of the battlefield. After losing the soldier that many saw as a father figure, they raised money for the bench.

Marine Pfc.
Chance Phelps
Palisade — Inside the trophy case at Palisade High School, one display dwarfs them all: the photo of the kid who spent much of his life crawling, hunting and exploring the open spaces of the smallest towns in northeastern Colorado — the 19- year-old who has become one of the most well-known casualties of the war. His father, sculptor and painter John Phelps, honored his son in a portrait that graces the ''Faces of the Fallen'' exhibit at Arlington National Cemetery and in a national award for good Samaritans (last year given to Rudy Giuliani) that bears Chance's name. The Marine who escorted Phelps' body home, Lt. Col. Mike Strobl, wrote an account of his own personal journey from Dover Air Force Base to Phelps' remote burial spot in Wyoming. A movie adaptation of that story will soon go into production for HBO. It is called Taking Chance.

Marine Lance Cpl.
Chad Maynard
Montrose — As he gave a speech for Veterans Day, Montrose High School teacher Daniel Tyler realized there was no memorial to the kid who once stood on nearby street corners holding up signs in support of the troops. ''I stopped mid-speech and said, 'Something has to be done,''' he said. ''And so I challenged the kids right there and asked, 'How many of you will help me?' and out of 1,000 kids probably 800 raised their hands.'' Students have since begun planning a war memorial that will flank the front of the school. ''I think it really affected them,'' he said of Maynard's death. ''The war wasn't really real yet.''

Army Pfc.
George Geer
Cortez — The memorial is bright. And it moves. Fast. ''I'm standing here in the garage working on his '68 Charger right now,'' said Harold Geer as he spoke on the phone from the workshop his son always wanted. When Pfc. Geer left home, the Charger was in rough shape. They planned to fix it up together once he returned from the war. The same day George Geer died, the first box of parts arrived. Since then, the town has pitched in to help restore the car, which has been displayed at the local Ford dealership where Geer once worked and at car shows throughout the Western Slope. Another memorial flies every day from the flagpole in front of the Geer home. The same week the family learned of Geer's death, the Civil Air Patrol set up the flagpole in the family's front yard. Each day, George Geer raises the flag. Then he heads to the garage.

Marine Cpl.
Randal Rosacker
Alamosa — Since the beginning of the war in Iraq, members of the Mount Blanca VFW Post 899 have put up a picture of each resident of the San Luis Valley serving in Iraq. Less than a week before the war began, they realized one of the pictures would never come down.

Army Spc.
Travis Anderson
Hooper — Along the road that leads to Great Sand Dunes National Park in the San Luis Valley, tourists may soon see another monument that puts things in stark perspective: a bronze sculpture of a soldier's empty helmet, rifle and boots, the same kind of memorial
set up in the sands of Iraq for the soldier his buddies called ''Cowboy.'' ''We've got so much land on highway frontage, we're thinking we may put it at the intersection of (highways) 112 and 17, so people could come right off the highway and see it,'' said Barbara Anderson of the life-size memorial they're planning in memory of her son. The family also plans to donate a plaque to the high school and hopes to use some of his life insurance money to build another monument in the town of 123 people. ''We also want to list the names of all the troops who've died in the war,'' she said, ''once they stop dying.''

Marine Lance Cpl.
Justin Ellsworth
Fairplay — Before he left for Iraq, Justin Ellsworth sat on horseback in the mountains, presiding over the marriage of his mother and stepfather-to-be. ''It was the last time we saw him,'' said his mother, Tracy Love-berry-Ross. Last year, the Park County Rodeo was rededicated as the Lance Cpl. Justin Ellsworth Memorial Rodeo. ''To hear his name called over the P.A., I think he would have thought it was cool,'' she said. ''Justin was pretty much a cowboy at heart.''

Marine Lance Cpl.
Evenor Herrera
Edwards — A memorial is planned for the fallen troops of Eagle County. Once it's
built, Evenor Herrera's stepfather said he knows how the Marine would have reacted. ''He had a very peculiar way of accepting things. He would just kind of giggle a little bit and then throw out a smile,'' said David Stibbs. ''If he could see people putting up some kind of memorial to him, I know I would see that smile.''

Marine Lance Cpl.
Greg Rund
Jefferson County — The wooden benches outside Columbine High School's football practice field are etched with Greg Rund's philosophy: ''Find A Way,'' one bench reads. ''Make The Play,'' reads another. Rund actually preferred the practice field to the real stadium, since the lanky kid never was athletic enough to play much in actual games. At Columbine, Rund concentrated on cheering his teammates on — a tradition the benches are meant to continue. His parents also formed a scholarship in his name, awarded at the end of each year. The only criteria is being a football player for four years who exhibits the zest for life that Greg had, ''someone who was not there for himself, but who was there for the team,'' said his mother, Jane Rund. ''There are no requirements for academic ability or athletic ability, because Greg didn't excel at either one. But he was a great Marine.'' Inside Marker Park, along a path where Greg Rund once walked home from middle school, a plaque on a large rock reads, ''In memory of Greg Rund, LCPL, USMC. Boundless energy and laughter. He loved life, family, friends and country. 1983-2004.'' Nearby is a tree planted in his memory. ''I hope that people . . . will have a better appreciation for people who care so much for our country,'' his mother said, ''and that maybe they'll get a sense of where their priorities lie.''

Army Capt.
Russell Rippetoe
Boulder — Inside the University of Colorado's Army ROTC office, each new cadet learns ''the story of Captain Rippetoe'' — how the CU alum ran to help a pregnant Iraqi woman, only to fall victim to a car bomb booby trap, along with two other soldiers. At graduation, the top cadet is now awarded an officer's sword called ''The Rippetoe Saber.'' Rippetoe's dress uniform is displayed behind glass in the ROTC office. His work clothes — the actual desert camouflage uniform he wore in Iraq — hang in the Smithsonian Institution's National Museum of American History in Washington, D.C.
Broomfield — The American flag that absorbs the National Anthem before each home game at Broomfield High School once flew over Arlington National Cemetery in honor of the former homecoming king. The Colorado flag inside the gym was the same one handed to Russell Rippetoe's parents by Colorado Gov. Bill Owens. Outside the gymnasium, Rippetoe's soccer uniform is encased in glass, his number retired.

Army Sgt. 1st Class
Randall Rehn
Niwot — The Randy Rehn Bridge crosses over a creek from Niwot High School's main campus to the athletic field. Rehn excelled as a wrestler, but also made a point of sticking up for the little guys. A plaque on the bridge reads, ''With Cougar Pride Niwot High School honors for valiant service to our country Army Sergeant First Class Randy Rehn, Class of 1985.''

Army Staff Sgt.
Michael C. Parrott
Timnath — Before he donned desert camouflage, Mike Parrott blended in with the scenery on the back roads and bike paths throughout the mountains in northern Colorado. Before leaving for Iraq, the 49-year-old still rode his bicycle from Timnath to Fort Collins for his job in the Colorado State University facilities department. Residents of the tiny town (population 220) have begun raising money to expand the path along the Poudre River and name it for the man who took the one less traveled.

Army Pfc.
Tyler MacKenzie
Greeley — As new recruits are sworn in to the armed services at the City Council chambers, they now have no choice but realize the weight of their decision. Since the first death in Iraq of a service member from Weld County, residents entering the armed service are sworn in each month during a televised ceremony that is always dedicated to Tyler MacKenzie. According to Harold Weisberg, mayor of Evans, where MacKenzie grew up, it's only the beginning. ''The community really took Tyler's death quite hard,'' Weisberg said, ''and there are just constantly things going on to remember him.''

Army Sgt. 1st Class
Daniel Aaron Romero
Platteville — The first Coloradan killed in Afghanistan is included in several official memorials throughout the United States, and a tiny place dedicated to fun: the skate park in Platteville. In one of his last letters home, the Green Beret was thinking of the children of Afghanistan, requesting that his parents send ''scotch tape, crayons and coloring books for local children, balloons and string for balloons . . . Love all of you — take care and hopefully I'll be home safe and sound soon. Aaron.''

Marine Lance Cpl.
Thomas Slocum
Thornton – A bronze ''field cross'' composed of a service member's empty boots, rifle and helmet stands atop the city's new war memorial dedicated to ''all the men and women who served our country in the war on terrorism.'' On the reverse side of the granite stand there is a single name, Lance Cpl. Thomas J. Slocum, the first Coloradan killed in the war in Iraq. Underneath his name, the memorial's designers left space for more.
Thornton – In the newly renamed Lance Cpl. Thomas Slocum Post 201, a charcoal portrait is prominently displayed at each meeting of the Thornton American Legion. ''We kind of like to think of it as he's watching over our post, and we look to him to keep our mission focused,'' said Steven Nelson, post commander. ''He's our inspiration.''
Conifer — The most recently established Veteran's of Foreign Wars post —the Chew Commons Slocum VFW Post, No. 12009 — is named after the men who died in the most recent wars: Army Pfc. Lars Chew, who died in Desert Storm, Army Cpl. Matthew Commons, who died in Afghanistan, and Lance Cpl. Slocum. Each month, Tommy Slocum's parents make the hourlong trek to the post, into the mountains where their son loved to play. After each visit, they visit his grave at Fort Logan National Cemetery in Denver.

Marine Lance Cpl.
Andrew Riedel
Northglenn — Andrew Riedel was 19 years old when he died, so the five years he spent at Hillcrest Elementary represent more than a quarter of his life. When the children enter the school, they are now met by the solemn stare of a Marine.
Golden — Just off 20th Street in Golden, a park bench is dedicated in Andrew Riedel's name. When someone sits on the bench, said his mother Sherri Busch, ''My hope is that they'll remember not just Andrew, but all of the servicemen that made it possible for them to walk on the sidewalk to that park bench — whether it was this war or any other.''

Marine Lance Cpl.
Jeremy Tamburello
Westminster — Two years after he graduated from Ranum High School and four months after he died in Iraq, Jeremy Tamburello's name will be placed on School District 50 Stadium on April 1, alongside the names of 13 other school district alumni who have died in past battles while in service to the country. When students walk past that memorial, ''I would hope that they'd take into consideration the lives that have been given up,'' said his father, Kevin Tamburello, ''and a lot of those lives come out of high schools just like Jeremy's.''

Marine Lance Cpl.
Mark Engel
Denver — Even through the Vietnam War, Cherry Creek High School had not lost a graduate. ''He was the first,'' said Bill Engel, father of Mark Engel. Two granite benches, arranged at 90 degree angles at one school entrance, now mark the milestone. ''In the apex is a stone that comes up and says 'Lance Cpl. Mark Engel,''' his father said. ''And on the side it says Class of 2001.
The sides of the benches are inscribed 'Freedom Is Not Free.'''

Navy Petty Officer 2nd Class
Danny Dietz
Aurora — To commemorate the life of their Navy SEAL son, the family of Danny Dietz plans to commission a life-size bronze memorial in his honor, taken from one of the last photos of him in the place he died — in uniform, in Afghanistan. The family continues to raise money for the memorial statue (donate to the Navy Seal Danny Dietz Memorial Fund at any Wells Fargo bank), but has yet to decide where to place it. Like many families of the fallen, the parents of Danny Dietz also have contributed to the Colorado Freedom Memorial, a massive monument that planners hope to build in Aurora within the next two years, listing the names of every Colorado servicemember killed in action. ''We live in a beautiful country and sometimes we take it for granted,'' said his mother, Cindy Dietz. ''When they look at my son (in the memorial), I hope they can see what our family sacrificed. I know my son isn't the only hero out there. There are lots of memorials to different heroes, this is just my path. And it's history.''

Marine Sgt.
Douglas E. Bascom
Colorado Springs — Few people will ever see the memorial to Douglas Bascom. Those who do, his father says, will understand its importance. ''It's in a classified place, so you have to have clearance to be in there, but the people who are there know what it's for,'' said Larry Bascom, an Air Force master sergeant, speaking of the conference room at Schriever Air Force Base named in honor of his son. The room at the space warfare center is anchored by two shadowboxes, one displaying Bascom's uniform and medals, another with a picture of the 25-year-old alongside a plaque explaining who he was, what he did and how he died. ''Everyone pays a price,'' his father said, ''we all do.''

Army Spc.
James R. Wolf
Fort Carson — When they left for Iraq, the 43rd Area Support Group's mission was primarily to support the fighting force. They soon learned that everyone was part of the fighting force. After learning of the death of Spc. Wolf from a homemade bomb while on convoy, the 43rd ASG named a dining hall on the Mountain Post in honor of the first of their group to die in Iraq.

Army Sgt.
Michael A. DiRaimondo
Fort Carson — When soldiers are brought in for recovery at Evans Army Hospital at Fort Carson, the first name they see is one their comrades also saw in time of need. A medic, DiRaimondo was killed in a Blackhawk helicopter while on a medical rescue mission. In his honor, Fort Carson dedicated the Michael DiRaimondo Troop Clinic. ''Michael went beyond helping people who were physically hurt. At the dedication of the medical facility one soldier came up and said, 'Your son saved my life,' '' remembered his father. ''(The soldier) said, 'When I came in I didn't like anyone, nobody liked me, I had attitude out the wazoo. He said Mike came to his room and said, 'We're a family, we depend on each other.' He said, 'You're going to know the guys and they're going to know you.' That's what Mike did, he helped people wherever he could and whenever he could.''

Army Staff Sgt.
Justin Vasquez
Manzanola — It takes a lot to earn the Stetson and spurs from the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment. They are awarded only after rigorous training and carry a history dating back to the horseback troops that thundered through Colorado before it was a state. In an area where the cavalry once rode, Justin Vasquez's family returned a Stetson and spurs to the town hall and a picture of the Manzanola High School graduate to his alma mater on the plains.

Army Spc.
Derrick Lutters
Burlington — In the place they call ''''Old Town,'''' Burlington has preserved the original jail, blacksmith shop, bank and train depot. In the military museum, they keep relics from conflicts dating back to the First World War. The newest exhibit features a penciled portrait of the kid who was well known in the area as a peacemaker and caretaker. The same portrait also hangs at the Kit Carson Correctional Facility, in the newly established Hall of Fame, in honor of the guard who was liked by staff and inmates alike. Lutters' mother plans to donate his uniform to the military museum, where it will be placed in the one display that museum director Kay Schmidt hopes will have no new exhibits. ''To add another one,'' she said, ''it's the saddest thing in the world.''

"On the day of the funeral, I was just taken by it all - I didn't want it to be forgotten," said Larry Padilla, the maintenance man at Manzanola High School, who watched Justin Vasquez scurry around the town as a boy, grow up in the hallways of the school and return as a soldier.

"This community is just real close - we don't forget where we came from," Padilla said. "I wanted a part of him to be here always."

Thanks to Padilla and others in the community, a picture of Vasquez, along with a plaque with his name and achievements, will never leave the school.

The Stetson and spurs - icons of the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment - will soon make up a memorial in the town hall. Once installed, they will join dozens of memorials throughout the state, as families and friends of fallen troops search for ways to keep their memories alive.

Since the beginning of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, three American Legion and Veterans of Foreign Wars posts in Colorado have been renamed for troops killed in action.

Near Littleton, benches on a high school practice field carry the encouraging words of a former player who urged teammates never to give up.

In Timnath, southeast of Fort Collins, a bicycle path will soon carry the name of a man who pedaled through the mountains before being killed in the desert.

There are memorial benches and plaques. Jerseys and uniforms of dead service members now hang in several high schools and museums.

Just over a week ago in Manzanola - or "Manzie" as most residents call the tiny town about an hour's drive east of Pueblo - they all gathered around the latest memorial: the empty Stetson.

Inside the gymnasium, residents filled the bleachers where they normally cheer the Manzanola Bobcats. The side marked VISITORS was empty; they all sat on the side marked HOME.

On the floor of the gym, 25-year-old Riley Vasquez looked at her husband's picture, the same one that will soon hang in the school.

While growing up, she didn't think much about past wars. Now, she can't stop.

"I just want people to realize the sacrifice - not just the one that Justin made, but that all of them made. Not just in the Iraq war, but in all the wars," she said.

"It just makes you realize that people die for you every day."

VFW post renamed

Beneath a new memorial in Thornton, Terry and Stan Cooper looked up at a pair of empty boots molded in bronze, along with a rifle and an empty helmet: a replica of the "field cross" set up by troops when one of their own is killed in action.

"This one touches me more than almost any others that I've ever seen," said Stan Cooper, as he stood by the city's new "War on Terrorism" memorial. "This one just makes it more . . . "

"Personal," said Terry Cooper, mother of Lance Cpl. Thomas Slocum, finishing his sentence.

"Personal," Slocum's stepfather said, nodding.

This weekend begins one of the hardest stretches of the year for the couple. Sunday is the third anniversary of the start of the war.

That means Thursday is the third anniversary of Slocum's death.

Most people remember the blizzard of 2003, Stan Cooper said. His family remembers what came afterward.

During the past three years, several memorials have sprung up around the area bearing Slocum's name.

After spending the first several months of his death with no road map to navigate her grief, Terry Cooper has taken an anchoring role in a group of Marine families who get together once a month to support each other.

Still, she says, every family's burden is different.

"The one thing I didn't have to go through was the worrying, the constant worrying," she said.

"I mean, Tommy was killed the fourth day of the war. Some of these families have been through two or three tours. I don't know how the hell they do it."

Last Tuesday evening, the couple made the hourlong trek to Conifer, where a new Veterans of Foreign Wars Post was named in their son's honor.

"Tommy loved it here," Terry Cooper said as they stood among the quiet pines outside the building where the post meets. "It's so peaceful."

During Vietnam, few posts were named for veterans of that war. Most that now do were dedicated long after the conflict. The members of the Conifer post say they're committed to not letting that happen again.

"We've had a lot of Vietnam vets who have said they didn't feel welcome in the past," said Neal Lawson, who co-founded the post in 2004.

"We won't let that happen. Everybody gets treated the same - it doesn't matter what war they were in or what branch of the service."

On Sunday, the Coopers will make the trek to the post again for its monthly pancake breakfast. Afterward, they will stop by Fort Logan National Cemetery in Denver to visit their son's grave.

Thursday, they'll be there again.

Though the couple remain steadfast in their support of the war in Iraq, Terry Cooper says the memorials aren't about politics, "They are about honor."

"When he was alive, it was my job to take care of him," she said. "Now that he's gone, it's my job to make sure he's not forgotten."

Moment full of sunflowers

Inside the barren Manzanola Cemetery, where nearly everything is some shade of brown, bright yellow plastic sunflowers sprout from the dust.

Sgt. Patrick Ziegert stood before the grave of Justin Vasquez and remembered the last time he saw that scene. It was in Iraq.

"We were coming down the road one day and there was a field just full of sunflowers. We stopped and Justin got off the tank and just scooted down to the fields. He was standing as tall as he could in the fields, but you still couldn't see him, the sunflowers were so tall."

The soldier stood back.

"It was just one of those moments," Ziegert said.

"We used to talk about things like that all the time, just sharing observations that, man, there's a lot of beauty in this country."

Since hearing the story, Vasquez's family blanketed the gravesite with the plastic sunflowers.

A picture that Ziegert took from the tank - a photo of Vasquez with his rifle in the sunflowers - is now one of everyone's favorites.

"In fact," Ziegert said, "that sunflower day was the same day he died."

For returning troops, the gravestones and memorials are a pilgrimage - often a key part of the healing process. For many members of Vasquez's troop who returned from Iraq this month, his hometown was their first destination.

Inside the Manzanola Cemetery, Ziegert waited until all the other soldiers had left, then stared at the headstone for a long time. He moved up and bent down on a knee.

He stood again and brought his hand to his forehead in a slow salute. He then walked off into the dirt.

"Damn," he said.

A name among the stones

At the Fort Carson Army post, Melissa Givens looked up at the black monolith where her husband's name is listed first.

Then she looked at the ground and her two boys.

"Come on, guys, let's look for Daddy's bricks," she said.

The family walked along the memorial sidewalk around the monument dedicated to the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment.

"Here's mine," she said, reading, "Pfc. Jesse Givens. In Loving Memory Melissa." Then she found the brick she dedicated for the boys: "We love you Daddy. Dakota and Carson."

Since the monument was installed, Givens said she visits frequently - sometimes after her counseling sessions with the post's chaplain.

She's watched for three years as more names have been added and has heard the wails of other mothers and wives at each ceremony.

Still, she comes.

"Soldiers are replaceable. When one dies, there's always another one to step up and take their place," she said.

"But to have the names here, in a way it shows that they're not just numbers. That the someone who's going to take their place has a name, too."

When the 3rd ACR is transferred from Fort Carson to Texas later this year, the regiment will take the memorial with it. Givens says she's come to terms with the move - she says the monument is more likely to be properly cared for if it stays with the regiment.

Another larger, more recent memorial at the front of the post now lists the names of all Fort Carson soldiers killed in action. That memorial, officials promise, will be permanent. In May, they plan to add more names.

Back at the family home in Fountain, 2-year-old Carson Givens curled up on a couch underneath a new painting of the father he never saw.

Melissa thought through the other memorials dedicated to Jesse. She picked up the book that included her husband's final letter and the monuments at Fort Carson.

A chorale group has set one of her husband's last letters to music.

Earlier, her 8-year-old reminded Givens of one memorial she forgot.

"His name is on that place in Missouri, too - that place with all the rocks," Dakota Givens said.

"What place with all the rocks?" his mother asked.

"That place with all the rocks with names on them," he said.

"Ohhh," she said, closing her eyes, realizing what he meant: "The cemetery."

She looked down and smoothed his hair.

"Yeah, 'Kota," she said. "His name's there, too."