Memorial Day has always been a solemn day in my family. I grew up the descendant of six generations of career Army officers. My father often reminded my siblings and me that we “never missed a meal or heard a shot fired in anger,” and that it was our job to thank those who had. His point was clear: Our comfort was made possible by the sacrifices of others.
But in recent years, I have come to believe that Memorial Day needs a broader lens. Even as we rightly honor those who died while serving their country, we must also acknowledge the quieter, often invisible losses here at home.
Since the start of the War on Terror in 2001, more than 7,000 U.S. service members have died during their service, mostly in Iraq and Afghanistan. According to the Department of Veterans Affairs, 140,000 veterans took their own lives between 2001 and 2022 — well over 6,000 veterans every year, or an average of more than 17 each day.
These deaths may not be the result of enemy fire, but they are casualties of war just the same. Research has consistently shown that suicide among veterans is closely linked to their military experience — particularly exposure to combat, post-traumatic stress disorder, and the often abrupt loss of identity and purpose following discharge. Veterans are most at risk immediately after leaving the service, when many many feel most disconnected from the fellowship and mission that once defined their lives.
During deployment, servicemembers develop extraordinary bonds. Many of the veterans I have worked with over the past decade say that their primary mission in combat was not glory or medals — it was getting their people home safely. That sense of unity is a kind of armor. But when they return home, that armor often disappears. They leave their unit, lose their support system and face a civilian world that doesn’t always understand the war they’re still fighting.
Lt. Col. Charley Watkins, my dad’s Vietnam chopper pilot who now works with veterans in transition, calls this their “new norm.” It’s when the camaraderie fades, and the isolation begins.
That isolation is often the most dangerous battlefield. In my work leading filmmaking workshops for veterans, I’ve seen the power of collaboration up close: Men and women who have never met coming together to craft narratives that express shared service experiences and help them begin to make sense of things that no longer make sense.
These aren’t just creative exercises. They are personal, hopeful, often transformative opportunities for veterans to feel heard, valued, and part of a team again. Dr. Rachel Yehuda, Mental Health Chief at the Bronx VA Medical Center has said of our workshops, “Once these struggling veterans begin to see the world differently, anything is possible.”
The films themselves are also a potent way for the rest of us to empathize through a medium we all understand. Of course, filmmaking is only one of many collaborative tools for healing. The real solution starts with awareness and then action.
Civilians don’t need to be experts in trauma to make a difference. Often, the most powerful thing we can do is simple: show up. A call. A coffee. An invitation to a family cookout.
These seemingly small gestures can offer the lifeline that keeps someone connected.
One of my closest friends, Capt. Rich Barbato, a decorated Iraq War veteran, has lost 42 soldiers from his airborne battalion to suicide. “If there had been more opportunities and ways to recreate a sense of community when I came home,” he told me recently, “many more of my brothers in arms would be alive today.”
That should haunt us. And it should move us to act.
Millions of men and women have courageously served this country so that others like me wouldn’t have to. So that we could choose to forget the fact that so many went to war and made the ultimate sacrifice; so that we could pursue prosperity and live our lives in peace. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe the ability to lose ourselves in a festive, gorgeous May weekend is simply proof of the value and purity of that gift. And yet that is precisely why it is so important that we do acknowledge our veterans on Memorial Day and every day.
So this Memorial Day, while we honor those who died in service to our country, let us also remember those who died after their service — casualties of a war that never truly ended for them. Let us support the families they left behind. And let us recognize that preventing future loss is not just the responsibility of the VA or the Pentagon. It’s on all of us.
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Benjamin Patton is the Founder and Executive Director of the Patton Veterans Project. He is the grandson of World War II commander General George S. Patton, Jr. and son of Major General George S. Patton IV, a veteran of the Korean and Vietnam conflicts.
