Honor those whose sacrifice makes them worthy

Memorial Day is a day to remember and honor those who have died in service to our country during peacetime and at war. Unfortunately, I remember too many. Every time I hear a bugler play “Taps” or a piper play “Amazing Grace,” memories and tears are autonomic responses.  Memorial Day brings my cumulative experiences of loss to the front of my mind. 

I can’t give speeches. I’d never get through them. For I see faces, not just of the men and women with whom I served but also of the moms, dads, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends whom I have met at scores of memorial services. 

For those who gave the full measure, death most often was random and instantaneous. For some, death was a decision because they suffered from unseen wounds. I mourn every loss and honor these comrades-in-arms for being the kind of people who stepped forward to say, “I’ll serve.” It’s a privilege to live and work among such citizens-turned-soldiers — “soldiers” being shorthand for members of all services. 

Most of them would say that they’re just ordinary people. Maybe so, but once they donned the uniform, they became far from ordinary. Whatever they were before, they became trustworthy members of a team — those who could be counted on regardless of difficulty or danger. By action, not just words, they subordinated themselves to their fellow soldiers and to the common good — people willing to do their part not for reward, but because they believed in service to their country. And they were courageous. They served even while acknowledging their fear, the danger of circumstance, and for some, the potential of their death.

Some of those whom I remember died training under tough and harsh conditions; some by suicide. Most died in combat. I honor them not because of their rank or the position they held, but because, by their service, their sacrifice to our nation makes them worthy of honor. 

These military members were not a homogenous lot. They represented every race, color, religious belief, national origin and ethnicity. Some came from prosperous backgrounds and were well educated; some had neither. Background didn’t matter. What did matter was that — when they were sweaty hot or shivering cold, dirty, wet, hungry and sometimes so tired they were falling asleep while standing up — they still “drove on” to accomplish whatever the common task was, not wanting to let their buddies or their unit down. That’s what I remember. 

And I remember the pride-filled yet anguished families who came to celebrate and mourn their fallen soldiers. Their faces revealed the holes in their hearts; their eyes asked the unanswerable question, “Why?” and their arms just wanted to hug. No lofty words count among these mourners; witness does. Communication takes place through the silence that says, “I understand, and I hurt with you.” Tears say more than tongues and lips ever could. 

Most of all, I remember that every single soldier — even those who had yet to become citizens — was an American in the finest sense of Lee Greenwood’s “Proud to be an American” or Toby Keith’s “American Soldier.”

My Memorial Day is filled with memories of these men and women. It’s a sad day, because they no longer are here to share their quality with the rest of us. Americans may be rugged individualists, but there are many who are willing to put aside self and personal gain for the common good, swallow fear on behalf of others, and risk it all to achieve something greater than themselves. The Minutemen and Continental soldiers were our first examples of such Americans.  But that spirit of service to the nation has continued throughout our history.

Memorial Day is also a day to reflect on what brings us together as a nation — that’s what soldiers’ sacrifices are for. There is no division among soldiers digging a trench or a foxhole together, or standing in a bouncing plane waiting to jump into the night, or sitting in armored vehicles traveling down a contested road or across a field toward an enemy, or providing covering fire for the medic crawling toward a wounded comrade. All are united by the circumstance and task. Self-interest and personal gain, social standing or income, religious or political beliefs — none of these matters when the going gets tough, or when they’re doing what the nation sent them to do. 

Being there for the other, shouldering more than one’s share of the load, relying on others who you know have your back — this is what matters. More of us who remain at home might follow this example.

On Memorial Day, I remember and honor Americans like this. I was lucky to serve with and command such men and women. Living among them and their families gave meaning to my life.

All Americans are lucky to be served by them. They provide the space for us to live our lives, raise our families, make our money, have our political disagreements, and espouse our beliefs.  Some may wonder if what we’re doing behind their protection is worthy of their sacrifices. But in the end, I know it is. Providing that space is why America needs uniformed citizens and it’s why they serve. 

James M. Dubik, Ph.D., a retired lieutenant general of the U.S. Army, is a senior fellow at the Institute for the Study of War. He served in military command and operational roles in Bosnia, Haiti and Iraq, and helped train forces in Afghanistan, Japan, South Korea, Thailand, Honduras, and many NATO countries.