I was at the funeral of my brother-in-arms recently. Life is not fucking fair. I looked at his wife and little daughter. I can't even imagine how it feels for them but I cried there.

Death takes our brothers. The skilled ones. The brave ones. The best That's what makes it so fucking unfair. He served in the 80th Air Assault Brigade even before 2022. A real professional, a good man. The kind of fighter you want together with you when everything goes to hell.

He left behind a wife and a daughter. I literally cried when I saw his brother-in-arms walk up to the wife. He handed her the unit flag and his beret. She held them like they could bring him back. But they can't.

I can't even imagine what this feels like for his daughter. She's probably like 12. Twelve years old and her father was killed by Russian Forces in combat. How do you explain that? How do you make that fair? You don't. Because it isn't.

I stood at that cemetery and watched grown men cry. Men who have killed. Warriors who've seen things most people can't imagine. They all wept because they lost their brother.

And I thought about my own funeral. What it will look like. Who will cry. What words the priest will say. Whether my love's heart will survive it. It's horrible that these thoughts are in my head. But they are.

I also thought about how I'm not worthy of such a brother-in-arms. Not worthy of his sacrifice. That I don't do enough. I will probably tear myself apart with this guilt for the rest of my life.

Death in war doesn't care about skill or experience. It doesn't care about the daughter who needs her father or the wife who lost her husband. There's never enough time. Never enough moments. Never enough goodbyes.

This is the cost of our freedom. Real people with real families. Not statistics. Not numbers in reports. I will carry him in my thoughts forever, like all the others we've lost. Eternal Glory.

Probably no one will truly understand this pain. No one can. But I'm sharing it with you anyway.