The lives we lose, there and here

Returning home from the war, I remember the descent into Campbell Army Airfield. I looked out the window at the farms and surprisingly green fields thinking, “man, at least I never have to do that again.”

There was a sense of finality. The war was over. Al Qaeda had been decimated and the Taliban removed from power.

That was 18 years ago this weekend. It was Memorial Day 2002 and I was 24 years old.

The irony, of course, is that it didn’t end there. My beard is gray now. And we are still in Afghanistan. Now, more than 2,000 combat-related deaths later, many of us are asked to tell their stories each Memorial Day.

Sometimes I do. Usually I don’t. In fact, I generally lay low on this day, trying to avoid Facebook, the think pieces and all the TV dedications. It’s not that they’re bad or unneeded. It’s just a little much for me.

But I’m writing today because this Memorial Day has me thinking quite a bit about public service and what it means to sacrifice for one’s country and way of life.

Yes, Memorial Day is about the soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines who died fighting wars — in combat and of internal wounds years later. But I can’t help but feel this year is different. And perhaps it warrants expanding the meaning of Memorial Day, if only for a year.

For the first time in decades, a class of public servants who are not in the military find themselves at mortal risk, asked to put their lives on the line to protect their fellow countrymen and women. Some asked for it, some didn’t. But, like those of us thrust into combat, they’re all in it.

These are front line health-care workers. They are doctors, nurses, EMTs and even hospital janitors. Hundreds have died already. At VA medical centers alone, as of this writing, more than 1,400 employees have fallen ill with COVID-19. Thirty have died. Definitive numbers in non-VA hospitals are harder to come by, but illnesses are in the tens of thousands. Hundreds have died. In fact, more American health-care workers have died in service in the last eight weeks than U.S. troops have died in combat in the last six years.

That is why, as we consider the 100,000 and counting Americans who’ve died with coronavirus, we should take time this weekend to remember and reflect on those who died trying to prevent that ghastly toll. They have done no less and risked no less for their country than military service members. And we should recognize and value that. It takes nothing away from those of us who’ve watched our military friends put in the ground.

Unfortunately, there is also a flipside to the thousands of brave frontline health-care workers risking everything in the line of duty. There are the thousands of Americans who have resisted performing even the easiest of tasks to support those workers in hospital hot zones. They’re also endangering our family members, friends and neighbors.

I’m talking about the people who refuse to wear masks — the people who insist on being able to do whatever they want, whenever they want because of “freedom.” They certainly have that right. It’s always been this way: A few sacrifice on behalf of the many, and often the few are taken for granted and under-appreciated.

But if you’re looking for a way to give back on Memorial Day this year, maybe consider that. Wear the mask. Urge others to do the same. Try to make the jobs of America’s frontline health-care workers that much easier and safer. They will chafe at being called heroes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t thank them for their service by showing them in tangible ways.

Friedman is an entrepreneur who previously served in the Obama administration and as an infantry officer with the 101st Airborne Division in Iraq and Afghanistan.