Remembrance is Not Enough

Ten years ago, a good friend of mine died by his own hand.

He was a veteran. He was a groomsman in my wedding. For about five years, he was close to me, a real part of my life. Then, like life sometimes does, we drifted. We lost contact. And I did not even know he was gone until a year or two ago.

That has sat heavily with me.
This Memorial Day feels different because of him.

I have had a lot of thoughts about freedom lately. About the phrase, “freedom isn’t free.” About war. About how often the rich wage war and the poor are the ones who die ( Linkin Park, anyone). About how easy it is to turn sacrifice into a slogan, into a bumper sticker, into background noise while everyone gets on with their weekend.
And I need to say this plainly: war is abhorrent.

I have been to war. I did not sit in a foxhole. I was not on the front line. But I was in the next echelon of care. I was in the hospitals where soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines were taken after the blast, after the injury, after the thing that changed their lives forever.

I have sat alone in hospitals in the Middle East with dying soldiers.

I have treated blast injuries. I have treated veterans with serious PTSD. I still care for veterans who come back to me again and again, partly because I know the language and partly because I have a sympathetic ear for what they carry.
And I am sitting here in tears because that time shaped the man I am.

I am also sitting here in tears because I am not okay. I struggle with anger, irritability, and outbursts. I carry things from those years that I still do not fully know how to set down. And I have to separate the amazing people I encountered from the horrid events that damaged me. I'm not alone.

That is part of the price I paid for 10 years of service, all told.
Some gave all, but all gave some. That saying is true. All of us pay a price, but not all of us have our cards punched.
Memorial Day is for the men and women who clocked out for the last time. The ones who went to glory because they believed they had a service, a duty, a job to do for their friends, their families, and the people standing beside them.

They held freedom on their backs.
They kept honor in their hearts.
They showed courage in their actions.

These men and women are not just to be remembered; they are to be revered.
Honestly, I sometimes think this day should not be called Memorial Day. It should be called Reverence Day.
Yes, have the barbecue. Yes, be with your friends. Yes, be grateful for the life you get to live. But carry a little sadness in your heart today. Carry some grief for the lost. For those auspicious, badass motherfuckers who faced depravity, evil, intolerance, terror, and still kept moving.
Some of them knew the cost was coming. They knew there might be no way around the sacrifice. Because to shirk duty meant their buddy might perish instead.

That kind of courage deserves more than a passing thought.
It deserves reverence.

And maybe the way back to honoring them is not more war. Maybe it is not more empty patriotism, more slogans, more profit made off the bodies and wounds of the poor and working class.
Maybe the way back is service.
Real service.

Humanitarian missions. Disaster response. Showing up after hurricanes, earthquakes, fires, floods, and tragedy. Suppressing evil when it must be suppressed, yes, but also uplifting those in need. Being the kind of nation that protects, rebuilds, feeds, shelters, and leads with moral courage.
And we do not need another tragedy to begin.
We need people to get off their fucking phones. Lift a finger for their neighbor. Grow food. Know their children. Call their friends. Check on the veterans in their lives. Build families, communities, and systems that actually honor human beings.
All human beings.

Not just one kind of American family. Not just the convenient kind. Not just the traditional kind. Every family. Every neighbor. Every person who is trying to live with dignity.
I do not think this nation has felt very great for a while. But I believe we have been great before, and I am still stubborn enough to believe we can become worthy of that word again.
Today, I am thinking of my friend.
I am thinking of the ones who never came home.
I am thinking of the ones who came home but never really made it all the way back.
And I think remembrance is not enough.

Reverence asks something of us.
So today, remember them.
Grieve them.
Revere them.

And then live in a way that does not waste what they gave.