ARTEMIVSK, Ukraine — I’m trying to remember the time before the war.

In the days before gunmen and roadblocks, I rode a bicycle down these streets. But the fires and the soldiers I see now get in the way of my memories and make it impossible to see this place as it once appeared.

In this gritty mining town, I practiced Russian and made many lasting friendships. Now I can only think of it as the place where Malaysia Airlines Flight 17 was shot out of the sky, killing all 298 passengers on board.

Four years ago, I hiked over this rolling steppe with a group of friends, setting up a picnic atop the bluff overlooking the city. Now the grass is stained with blood, littered with shell casings and marked by rocket craters.

The school down the road — where I taught American history and students in school uniforms greeted me in unison every morning, calling out, "glad to see you!" — had its roof blown off during a shelling. I pray none of my former students were inside when it happened.