Speaking as a veteran’s wife, one thing people forget about war is how uncomfortable it is. I don’t mean in the obvious ways (bullets, bombs, fire), but the lost amenities that would comfort us on ordinary days.
Today, ask a question about each thing you touch: how would war affect it?
Could you still turn on the lights?
Take a hot shower?
Sleep through the night?
Clean your clothes?
Make tea?
Shop for food?
Go somewhere quiet?
Take a break?
Call a friend?
Check your social accounts?
Log in to your online banking?
Get through your To Do list?
Work and get paid?
Close your door and lock it?
In disaster areas, exhaustion is universal. Of many causes, one is that NOTHING is automatic or simple. Every tiny task becomes an arduous, often unsuccessful quest. Most needs are unmet, and it’s not possible for the average person to solve the problem.
Life, in fact, is out of control.
Control is a civilian, peace-time myth. In war, it is no longer sustainable. So if you still think you have it, give thanks for the lights and the food and your favorite corner of the sofa.
Oh Lord, comfort the comfortless.
It’s about to be Memorial Day again. Remembering time. Truth is, what we have to remember is more than we can handle. People die, in a war, and that’s already too much to grasp. But there are other casualties. Hundreds of them, for every soldier, on both sides. These casualties seem small, and they sometimes fly past so quickly that there’s no time to name them. But the empty places left by these small deaths remain, and there will be years and years to feel the loss, after it’s too late to prevent it. 
Melinda Johnson, Writing 