Many people will remember 2004 as a historic year for a number of reasons: a bitter presidential election, bitter fighting in Iraq and an unrelenting pounding of our homeland by Mother Nature.

I'll remember 2004 as a year of loss. In less than four months, I lost two friends and a member of my family. But this is not about me.

Tomorrow is Veterans Day, and as fighting rages in Fallujah, it's more appropriate than ever to think of the men and women serving their country overseas. It's important, too, to remember the families who are feeling the pain of separation, sacrifice and loss.

My Uncle Bob served in a different conflict - World War II.

Bob was really my mother's uncle, but my brothers and I always knew him as Uncle Bob.

Uncle Bob was one of those fun uncles. While he was no saint, he always seemed to have a joke and a smile on his face. He taught us how to play pool, how to expertly swat a Ping-Pong ball, and spiked my Pepsi during a Christmas celebration at my grandmother's house.

Uncle Bob rarely talked about his service overseas, but as I grew into a bona fide history geek, my curiosity about his experiences grew. Several times I asked him about it, but he was usually vague and, at best, would share only snippets about his service in Europe.

Uncle Bob lived in a modest, one-room apartment. I'd visit him as often as my schedule permitted and would take him bowling or grocery shopping. Other times I'd rent a movie and we'd just hang out.

As he aged into his 80s, Uncle Bob slowly began sharing some of his memories from war-torn Europe. I learned he was drafted into the Army at the age of 18, served in the 80th Infantry Division and drove a jeep in an Intelligence and Reconnaissance platoon.

Uncle Bob's health began to deteriorate after he suffered a heart attack. I know he sensed his days were numbered, because during a visit last spring he pulled a heavy, metal camera case from under a shelf. He hoisted it onto the table, worked the combination lock and popped open the lid.

We spent the next couple of hours going through the contents of the case. It contained photographs he'd taken as his division fought its way across France and into Germany, as well as documents, letters and other memorabilia.

The details of his life as a young soldier were finally surfacing after 60 years. I was surprised to learn he had been wounded by shrapnel from an artillery shell. He told me about other close calls in combat, about fraternizing with German women and about friends who never came home.

Uncle Bob collapsed one day in early September. He spent his last days relying on a dialysis machine to keep him alive. Several days after refusing further treatment, he died quietly in his bed.

Uncle Bob was the last member of my family who served his country in a time of war. There were plenty of others, but I never got the chance to thank them for the sacrifices that enabled me to grow up in a free society.

I'm thankful I learned what Uncle Bob and millions of other veterans did in World War II. It deepens my appreciation for what our soldiers are facing today in dusty, hostile lands far from home and security.

This Veterans Day, take a moment to shake the hand of a veteran, or write to a homesick soldier overseas. It might just make their day, and I'll bet it will make your day too.