Memorial Day: The Conflicting Feelings of a Combat Officer

By Rian Adams

Another Memorial Day is here…. I find myself conflicted as usual. On one

hand, I’m very thankful to be counted among the living today. It could have easily gone the other way.

I’ll confess that I didn’t sleep last night. I’m well aware of the reason. I remember my friends.

This morning I made espresso and took medicine that prevents me from dying of seizures. Thanks, Afghanistan, eye roll. I don’t want to take this medicine because it often robs me of an appetite. Then my shoulder tells me I was injured. It also tells me that I had 3 CCs of steroid injected a couple of days ago. My back reminds me of a spinal fusion, I take four Advil liquid caps to take the edge off. My ankle says “Hey, remember me, I could use some of that Advil too.” These scars testify to a journey few are expected to make.

Yet through all the physical pain, I have a sense of gratefulness. I’m thankful to be here, I’m thankful to be alive. I’m certainly glad that I can say “I love you” to the ones who are important to me.

I have friends who will never again tell their wives or kids how special they are. Some of their numbers are still saved in my phone because I can’t bring myself to delete them… it would be as if they died all over again.

To those brave men and women who gave up everything, I say this: Thank you for teaching me what love is.

Greater Love

Jesus said, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

I once sarcastically remarked that the military taught me more about love than the church. I’ve watched friends die for each other in combat, often holding hands in a hospital.

I haven’t watched very many people sacrifice themselves – in the way of Jesus – to save their friends in church. As one professor remarked to me recently, “You mostly watch the wagons circle the institution to protect it.”

That’s probably accurate, but I refuse to accept that answer. Call me arrogant, naive, or a host of other words… I’ve been called worse, trust me. Yet I’m silly enough to believe that if military members can give their lives for others, Christians can too.

In this way, my service as a military officer taught me what we should expect from a church: sacrifice, love, and mercy. Hold my hand when parts of me die!

On the one hand, I’m thankful, on the other I’m frustrated.

Some of my friends, veterans, are quick to be rude and obnoxious when people say “happy Memorial Day.” Instead of absorbing pain they tend, rather, to feel the need be social police. Sure, they make a valid point that Memorial Day is more than a three day weekend. They are also right that “happy Memorial Day” is not correct.

But when I’ve checked my phone today to noticed texts saying “happy Memorial Day,” I’ve just replied, “thank you.” Sometimes it’s important to lay down your own life (and the incessant need to be right about everything) for the sake of saying “Thank you” or “I love you.”

However, there is something deeper at work. My belief is that Memorial Day is about absorbing pain and transforming it into love.

The opportunity that combat veterans have is quite profound. If we are willing to shoulder the weight of being the 1%, then we can live, and then die, with the dignity worthy of our friends who did not come home.

When we choose to love, we understand the true message of military service.

My first Command Sergeant Major in the Army stood next to me at a re-enlistment ceremony (which always took place in the Battalion memorial) and said, “Father Adams, the Army has saved more souls than the church.”

I replied, “I can’t say for sure Sergeant Major, but what I can tell you is that love for the guy in the fox hole next to you is a central message of Jesus.”

I’ve learned, much like the Trojan War, that one does not have to agree with the political reasons for war to love the person who stands next to you.

I’ve written a poem about my feelings. It’s below. And with that, I think it’s time to get rid of some stress in the gym.

To my friends who didn’t make it back: I love you… more every day.

Peace,

R+