A Veteran's Day Conundrum

Arlington National Cemetery is a special place for veterans and service members. It was closed through the pandemic, like just about everything else. But in 2021 it opened just in time for a Memorial Day visit, and I managed to slip in just ahead of the holiday, on an off-peak week day.

Those are the days with an eerie silence, being able to hear conversations or the clip clopping ceremonial horses from far off in the distance. It never fails to evoke emotion while passing through section 60 to visit old friends. This trip was different though. My mind had more than memories spinning through the slideshow carousel. This year was different. Coming out of quarantines, with all the added stress and stressors, we collectively carry a bit more baggage out of the public health crisis.

It was also the first I crossed the grounds knowing PTSD Awareness Month was a few short days away. That knowledge shaded the visit in a new light, illuminating a sharper contrast between how I was taught to treat these memories in the Army, and during my cognitive behavioral therapy in the VA healthcare system.

Therapy for trauma often involves encouraging survivors to ultimately accept their memories. The basic idea is to become comfortable enough to move on. In my own words, letting go of the memories can leave the physical responses, and the anxiety, in the past too. It works. It works for all kinds of trauma, from natural disasters to domestic violence.

It also works for veterans exposed to extreme stressors that cause post traumatic stress disorder. But that veteran population is unique, and not because of disorders or disabilities. Military service embraces an honor and remembrance that contradicts the trauma therapy. One of the first things we’re issues is a dress uniform. We’re taught to wear it with pride, in our country, our units, our friends, ourselves.

I was keenly aware of this contradiction, standing solemnly over teammates. With hands in my pockets, gazing downward to lock my eyes on finely manicured blades of grass. The beads of water that coalesce overnight stick around through mid-morning most days. But not on the white marble pickets encircling me. There was a tightness in my chest, a twinge of stress in reading the dates on the marble.

It’s a humbling experience in recognizing a soldier who didn’t see his 21st birthday, a Marine barely old enough graduate both high school, and boot camp. Americans can stand in that spot and understand the sacrifice made by the men and women who serve. It’s slightly different for a veteran to share that space.

Being able to visualize that 20 year old soldier, maybe once one of your soldiers making jokes in the chow hall about the bad food. Remembering the bus leaving a MEPS station with all the new recruits, mostly fresh out of high school and quietly wondering what they signed up for. It’s complicated to move on from those memories. Try not “feeling” them, when you acknowledge their sacrifice is what gave you the chance to stand there over them.

Asking us to.. move on, can very much feel like a betrayal. It feels wrong because we’re instilled with this honor when we join. It’s incredibly hard to let go because it was an honor… to be on that bus with those trainees. To be in that chow hall with my soldiers. It was honor to serve, and will forever be an honor to continue where they left off.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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