Casey Sheehan (left) died April 4, 2004, in Sadr City. His good friend Justin Johnson (right) was murdered by terrorists in the same Iraqi slum six days later.

Jan Johnson's two-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter can't wait for the family's annual Easter egg hunt. But the mere thought of it racks Jan with unbearable pain and nausea.

The former Christian missionary wants to joyfully celebrate Jesus's resurrection. Instead, thoughts of an explosion that killed her son in Iraq haunt and sicken her. Even before she saw the Army vehicle at her home on Easter Sunday three years ago, Jan knew her boy, Justin, was dead.

Today the waves of rattled nerves that knocked her soul into humanity's darkest despair return with the approach of Easter.

"Joleen asked me if I wanted to watch Justine hunt for eggs," Jan said, her voice shattered by a broken heart. "It's just too hard."

This week, Newsweek magazine published letters and e-mails from troops who have died in the Iraq war in an issue titled "Voices of the Fallen." Jan and Joe Johnson gave the magazine permission to print a photo of Justin, taken just before he died, and an e-mail he had sent home. The e-mail was first printed in American Mourning: A Story of Two Families; Touched by War—Torn by Beliefs.

American Mourning, which I co-wrote with Melanie Morgan, tells the story of two Army buddies who died six days apart in Iraq. Terrorists in the slum of Sadr City killed Justin Johnson and his friend Casey Sheehan. After their deaths, the Johnson and Sheehan families took opposite courses as they worked through the grief that fogged every second they breathed.

Jan gave Newsweek the April 8, 2004, e-mail and photograph of her beloved son because she doesn't want the world to forget about the soldiers who died, or about those who are still fighting for America. The magazine printed only part of Justin's e-mail, which is here in its entirety:

"A big battle broke out and we were in the middle of it. We had to escort wounded soldiers to another base and we were getting shot at. My front right tire got shot out . . . after our tire got fixed, on the way back to base, we got ambushed," Justin wrote. "They missed my truck but hit the one behind me. That night we lost 10 soldiers and 49 got wounded. I knew two of the ones that died.

"The next night we took a wrong turn and ended up in the middle of Sadr City, around midnight," Justin continued. "We had to drive through burning roadblocks, ram cars to get them out of our way and do about 60 mph to get out alive. We were informed that it is no longer a peacekeeping mission, no it is war again!

"You could never know what it is like unless you are here. The feeling you get when 10 bullets zip by your head. It is a feeling like no other! OK, I know you don't want to know all that stuff because it makes you worry. I just wanted to let you know that I was OK."

The single e-mail tells little of the story behind Justin, Casey, or the others who died during Holy Week, 2004. Justin's e-mail refers to the soldiers killed on Palm Sunday, which now is called Black Sunday by the troops who know the hell Sadr's army unleashed on the Americans who came to help them. Casey Sheehan, only twenty-four years old, died that day after a terrorist's bullet ripped through his skull.

Casey's mother, Cindy Sheehan, had a mother's sense that something horrible had happened to her oldest son. When she returned from a walk with her dogs on April 4, 2004, she saw the Army vehicle. Inside her home, the sorrowful soldiers told Cindy, who collapsed in a crushing pain that would not leave her.

Justin mourned his buddy but had to keep his senses sharp. He was a gunner on a Humvee, a perfect target for snipers. Justin's job was to watch out for enemies and sweep for roadside bombs that terrorists hid inside rotted animal carcasses, mounds of dirt, or even dead bodies.

During the precious time he had on a computer, Justin logged on to a Web site dedicated to fallen soldiers. He needed to say a final goodbye to Casey, whom he had met at Fort Hood and had loved like a brother.

"My name is Spc. Justin Johnson of the 1-82 arty battalion. Casey was a great friend of mine and is missed by us. All I wanted to say he is in my heart all the time."

It was the last thing Justin ever wrote.

Easter Sunday, 2004. The soldiers told Jan that Justin died after a roadside bomb hit his Humvee. Their words and the stifling numbness are forever tattooed on Jan's soul.

Sometimes grief mutes a person as if Death itself has grabbed her windpipe. Others search for ways to mask the pain, tamp it down so breathing is a little bit easier. There is no right way to grieve. It is a matter of survival.

Cindy Sheehan turned her grief into activism against the war. She and other antiwar activists made a widely reported stand in front of President Bush's Crawford ranch in August 2005. Cindy wanted a second meeting with the president to ask for what noble cause her son died.

Jan and Joe knew for what cause their son died, just as Justin and Casey knew.

Justin, his older brother Joshua, and even his father Joe all signed up for the Army after terrorists used airplanes as weapons of mass destruction on September 11, 2001. They knew what others wish to ignore: radical Islam will not stop until it is obliterated or it destroys our freedom.

Casey Sheehan also knew exactly what he was doing. Before he left for Iraq, he told his grandfather that he was well trained and ready to fight. He had signed up for a second stint in the Army and knew he was going to Iraq.

Before he went to battle on the last day of his life, Casey went to Mass and had Communion. He told a chaplain on the battlefield that he was aware of the danger and knew he could die. He loved his country, God, and his family.

Both Justin and Casey were patriots, in the classical meaning of the word. They loved God and read the Bible. Casey was born and raised in California with more liberal parents than Justin's, but they shared a bond that transcended politics.

As Cindy made her political stand, Joe Johnson prepared himself for war. He hitched up with a unit that would see combat in Iraq. Joe wanted revenge against the terrorists who killed Justin, Casey, and all the innocents on September 11. He left Jan, who was still grief-sick, and took the job that had killed his son: Joe became a gunner on a Humvee.

Every day Jan prayed that she would not face another Army notification. Every night she took sleeping pills to knock herself out. While awake, she watched twenty-four-hour news channels or tried to help other families whose sons or daughters had died in the war.

"I can honestly look them in the face and say, ‘I know what you're going through,'" Jan said.

After Joe came home from war and was honorably discharged from the service, he and Jan made a historic trip to Iraq. Move America Forward, a nonprofit pro-troops organization chaired by Melanie Morgan, organized the journey for Gold Star parents so they could see firsthand what their children died for.

Joe had already spent months in Iraq, patrolling the long, dangerous roads between Iraq and Jordan. The visit in November 2006 was different.

"The Kurds were friendlier people," Joe said. "They did not feel like we were occupying their country. We met a lot of high-level people, and every one of them said they were glad that the Americans came to free them."

Jan felt a sliver of peace when she visited the country where her son died.

"These are good people there," Jan said. "It isn't all war like what you see on the TV."

Jan met with families who had suffered abuse and murder at the direction of Saddam Hussein. One woman had lost twenty-seven family members to Saddam's henchmen.

The Johnsons hope to return to Iraq to see the progress made possible by Justin, Casey, and all the men and women of our Armed Forces. The Kurds expect to erect a memorial for coalition forces who gave their lives for Iraqi freedom and to protect America.

As Easter approaches, the Johnsons pray for their surviving son, Joshua, a soldier now stationed in Afghanistan. Jan tries beating back the dark thoughts that steal into her mind. She busies herself by attending funerals as part of the Patriot Guard, a group that protects fallen troops and mourners from protesters.

Jan wears a black leather vest with a Gold Star and the combat patches of Joe, Justin, and her father. Her family and her husband's family have sent warriors to every American conflict since the Revolutionary War. Justin was the first to fall.

The Johnsons speak freely about Justin. They share his story because, they say, he belongs to America. He is one of our heroes.

An Army buddy of both Justin and Casey contacted Jan after he read the Newsweek magazine. He told Jan that Justin's words were a part of history.

"Yeah, he is," Jan said.

Catherine Moy is an award-winning journalist who lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. She coauthored American Mourning with Melanie Morgan, KSFO morning co-host and chairman of Move America Forward.