Memorial Day, 2013

In an homage to those who died in the service of their nation, the New York Times published an article and image that struck home.



The perfect uniform, laid out as if someone was within it, evokes the sense of perfect loss, perfect emptiness, that one feels toward the fallen Marine who will be put to rest in it. One cannot help but feel the loss, and sentimentality, as well as the rightness of honoring the man for whom the uniform is prepared.

Yet, it also raises a troubling notion. 

The soldier bent to his work, careful as a diamond cutter. He carried no weapon or rucksack, just a small plastic ruler, which he used to align a name plate, just so, atop the breast pocket of an Army dress blue jacket, size 39R.

“Blanchard,” the plate read.

And so Staff Sgt. Miguel Deynes labored meticulously, almost lovingly, over every crease and fold, every ribbon and badge, of the dress uniform that would clothe Captain Blanchard in his final resting place.

“It’s more than an honor,” Sergeant Deynes said. “It’s a blessing to dress that soldier for the last time.”

What if Capt. Aaron R. Blanchard lived?  Is it not still a blessing to care for those who survive?

This isn't to suggest that the war dead haven't earned the devotion of a nation or its military. On this Memorial Day, 2013, we honor those who lost their lives to war in the service of our country, and we do so without regard to our politics or thoughts about whether any young American should be put in harm's way. No one can question the propriety of Sgt. Deynes doing everything he can to assure that Capt. Blanchard, that every soldier lost to war, is treated with the utmost respect.

And yet we can also ponder why our military, our government, doesn't deem it worthwhile to show the same honor, the same precision, to those who live. The wounded. The walking wounded, who suffer traumatic brain injury that no one seems to notice or take seriously enough, but who end up leaving military service to find themselves in a world that has no use for them, can't accommodate them. They have medals and ribbons, but no jobs or adequate care.

As we think about those who gave their lives, do we not have room in our minds to think about those who stood next to them but didn't die?  They are all worthy of our respect and honor. More importantly, they are all worthy of our meticulous care. 

Gently, he laid the pieces onto a padded table. Black socks protruded from the pants and white gloves from the sleeves. The funeral would be a closed coffin, but it all still had to look right.

“They are not going to see it,” he said. “I do it for myself.”

Sgt. Deynes did it because it was the right thing to do. The rest of us can see our returning soldiers, and yet can't be bothered doing the right thing for them as they take off their uniform and blend in with the rest of us, to be treated as shabbily as everyone else for not having died for their country.








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