About this column: Jenny Sokol is a graduate of the Naval Academy and lives on Camp Pendleton with her two-year-old daughter and baby son.

March 21

The call came early, before the kids were awake.

"I'm so sorry to tell you this, Jenny, but I read online that Alpha Company had some casualties last night," said my friend.

Trembling, I sat on the bedroom floor and finished folding the laundry.

Minutes before, the house had seemed so peaceful. How did I not know that something was wrong? This could be that moment I always looked back on - the moment before my life changed forever.

I phoned my parents, who struggled, but succeeded in saying all the right things. Next, I called the Colonel's wife, who promised to help find reliable information.

What followed were six long hours of uncertainty. Due to intense news coverage, the fog of war extended from the battlefield right into my home.

Does the media know that when "Marine Chopper Down" flashes across a TV screen, thousands of American families clutch their hearts and wait for a knock on the door? Wives call each other, trying to piece together what type of aircraft went down. Then they just wait, prisoners in their own homes.

Frustrated with conflicting and vague reports, I turned the television off and tried to concentrate on playing cash register and dollhouse. My daughter caught a tear streaming down my face and looked concerned. "You happy, Mommy? You happy?" The morning dragged on, as concerned friends and family members continued to call, one with news that a Marine officer had been killed.

Around noon, I learned that families had already been notified. Since I wasn't one of them, relief flooded my body.

I called my relatives. Unfortunately, I forgot to call my father, who had headed to church to "have a long talk with God." The poor guy was in the dark for hours after everyone else. By the time I reached him, my dad confessed he hadn't eaten all day.

Later, I learned the devastating news that a Marine in Blair's company had indeed been killed. Another was injured by mine shrapnel. I don't know how or why or even when it happened. And the answers to those questions won't change the fact that a Marine lost his life.

This afternoon, I felt suffocated indoors. We ventured out and got haircuts, ice cream, library books and sandwiches for dinner.

One spouse that I called today amazed me. She told me she had put her husband's life in the hands of God, and felt very much at peace. I felt envious.

Tomorrow, I vow, will be different. I'll turn off the TV, get off the phone, and get out of the house. I will be stronger; rely more on my faith.

After a week of very little sleep, my body aches from head to toe. My throat hurts, my face is breaking out, and my pants feel loose around my waist. Just two days into a war that I'm not even fighting, and I am exhausted.