Memorial Day and the Living Wounded

America at 250 and the Hidden Cost of the War on Terror

Nearly 45 million Americans are traveling this Memorial Day weekend. Airports are crowded. Families are gathering. Highways are packed with people heading toward beaches, cookouts, reunions, and long-awaited moments with loved ones.

There is nothing inherently wrong with that. Human beings need connection. Families need time together. In a country increasingly exhausted by politics, economic stress, and emotional fatigue, moments of warmth and togetherness still matter. But Memorial Day was never intended to be simply another long holiday weekend.

As America approaches 250 years of independence, Memorial Day 2026 feels unusually heavy. The country is simultaneously celebrating democratic continuity while also wrestling with political polarization, institutional distrust, military tensions, and growing uncertainty about the future direction of American society itself.

At the same time, the nation remains entangled in overseas conflict. Military leave restrictions have reportedly affected some personnel because of operational concerns involving Iran and broader regional instability. The global atmosphere feels tense again in ways many Americans hoped had finally ended after decades of war following September 11. That reality changes the emotional meaning of Memorial Day this year.

I served during the Global War on Terror. I deployed. I know what it means to lose comrades. I also know what it means to watch strong men and women return home carrying invisible wounds many civilians will never fully understand.

America often sees war through cemeteries and monuments. Memorial Day understandably focuses on those who died in service to the nation. Since 1775, approximately 1.3 million Americans have died in war-related service, including roughly 650,000 battlefield deaths. Those sacrifices deserve remembrance.

But Memorial Day should also force Americans to think honestly about another reality. The living wounded. The veterans who survived the wars physically but returned home emotionally fractured.

Roughly three million Americans served in the post-9/11 wars connected to Iraq, Afghanistan, and the broader Global War on Terror. Hundreds of thousands deployed multiple times. Yet less than one percent of the American population directly carried those military burdens. That disconnect matters.

For most Americans, the wars became background noise appearing occasionally between sports highlights, election coverage, and social media arguments. But for military families, war became daily life. Deployments. Anxiety. Fear. Separation. Funerals. Trauma. Reintegration. Emotional exhaustion. And when many veterans returned home, they often discovered that surviving combat was only the beginning of another struggle.

I have personally seen veterans dedicated to rebuilding their lives through education only to discover that concentration itself had become difficult. Sitting quietly inside a college classroom can become a battle when trauma follows you home. Reading assignments pile up while the mind drifts elsewhere. Hypervigilance, anxiety, chronic insomnia, depression, emotional numbness, and recurring memories slowly erode focus and stability. Many veterans try desperately to appear normal while internally collapsing.

Others carry chronic pain that never fully disappears. Some become dependent on prescription medications originally intended to help them function. Relationships deteriorate quietly over time. Marriages collapse beneath emotional strain. Some veterans isolate themselves socially because civilian life increasingly feels emotionally disconnected from their lived experience.

Over the years, Americans have occasionally witnessed horrifying tragedies involving veterans suffering from severe PTSD, addiction, emotional collapse, or untreated trauma. I still remember reading about a Pennsylvania veteran who killed members of his own family during a psychological breakdown connected to the disintegration of his household and deep emotional trauma.

These stories are painful to discuss. But avoiding them does not honor veterans either. War does not always end when deployment ends. Sometimes it simply follows people home. That reality is part of Memorial Day too.

And yet, to America’s credit, the country has also made enormous progress in recognizing these invisible wounds. Vietnam veterans often returned home to misunderstanding, emotional neglect, and inadequate mental health support. PTSD itself was poorly understood for many years. Veterans struggled largely in silence. That reality has changed substantially.

Today, the Department of Veterans Affairs provides far more extensive mental health support, counseling services, rehabilitation programs, suicide prevention efforts, educational support, and reintegration services than existed decades ago. Public understanding of PTSD has improved dramatically. Americans increasingly recognize that trauma can be just as devastating as physical injuries.

The country has also developed specialized veterans treatment courts in many communities across the United States. These courts emerged after judges and legal officials began recognizing that many veterans appearing before the criminal justice system were not simply criminals in the traditional sense. Many were struggling with untreated trauma, addiction, psychological collapse, or emotional injuries directly connected to military service. That recognition matters enormously.

It represents a society slowly learning that war leaves consequences extending far beyond the battlefield itself.

America has also continued expanding support for military families and surviving spouses. The VA now provides burial assistance, funeral support, compensation programs, survivor benefits, and monthly financial assistance for families of service members killed through combat or service-connected causes. Those programs are not acts of charity. They are obligations of the republic.

And perhaps nowhere is America’s long commitment to remembrance more visible than in its continuing effort to recover and identify service members who never returned home from previous wars.

Even decades after conflicts officially ended, the United States continues conducting recovery missions for missing personnel from Vietnam, Korea, and World War II. Forensic specialists still search forests, crash sites, battlefields, and remote terrain trying to identify remains and provide closure to families who spent generations waiting for answers.

That effort is profoundly moving. Despite political division and institutional strain, America still invests extraordinary resources trying to ensure that those who died beneath its flag are not forgotten. That says something important about the country itself. Because Memorial Day is ultimately about memory. Not just military memory. National memory.

I often think back to Memorial Day activities at a Veterans Administration medical center where middle-school students visited hospitalized veterans. During a discussion inside a lecture hall, I asked the students what Memorial Day meant. Almost every student answered the same way. “It’s to celebrate veterans.”

I gently explained the difference between Veterans Day and Memorial Day. Veterans Day honors those who served. Memorial Day remembers those who died in service to the nation. The distinction matters because modern America increasingly risks turning Memorial Day into a generalized patriotic holiday disconnected from mourning itself. That was never its purpose.

Memorial Day began after the Civil War as Decoration Day. Families gathered in cemeteries to place flowers and flags beside graves of fallen soldiers. It was rooted in grief, remembrance, and national healing after enormous bloodshed. There is something deeply powerful about those traditions even now. 

Rows of white headstones stretching quietly into the distance. Flags moving gently in the wind. Families standing silently beside graves. Aging veterans remembering friends lost decades earlier. Children asking difficult questions about sacrifice and war. That is Memorial Day.

And perhaps America needs those rituals now more than ever. Because the country itself feels emotionally strained. The United States remains one of the most dynamic democracies in human history, but it is also exhausted. Political hostility dominates public life. Trust in institutions has weakened dramatically. Leadership itself increasingly feels contested. Even the military has not entirely escaped ideological and political tension.

Senior military leaders have faced dismissal or controversy amid disputes involving diversity initiatives, anti-woke rhetoric, transgender service members, military professionalism, and broader debates about institutional direction. Discussions surrounding “combat ethos” and military culture have become increasingly politicized.

This should not become a partisan argument. Civilian control of the military remains a foundational democratic principle. The armed forces must remain subordinate to elected leadership regardless of party.

But Memorial Day 2026 also arrives at a moment when many Americans are quietly wondering whether broader political polarization is beginning to affect institutions once viewed as largely nonpartisan and professionally stable. During the Iraq War years, many Americans often said, “I support the troops, but not the war.”

Today the dynamic sometimes feels different. At times, it almost appears as though parts of the political system strongly support military operations while simultaneously expressing distrust toward aspects of military institutional leadership itself. That tension deserves thoughtful reflection. Not because America is collapsing. But because democratic societies depend heavily upon trust between institutions, leadership, service members, and citizens. And trust, once weakened, can take a long time to restore.

As America approaches 250 years of democracy, Memorial Day should become more than a long weekend. It should become an opportunity for civic introspection. What kind of republic does America hope to become over its next 250 years? Can the country remain emotionally connected to sacrifice in an age of distraction and polarization? Can Americans preserve democratic continuity while also rebuilding institutional trust? Can the nation continue supporting both the dead and the living wounded who carried war home with them?

Those are not abstract questions. They are deeply human ones. Many of these themes have shaped my own reflections in books such as America at 250: Democracy at Risk, America Under Strain: The Unfinished Work of American Democracy, and The Weight of the Biden Presidency: Power, Repair and the Strain of Governance. Because ultimately Memorial Day is not only about military sacrifice.

It is also about the republic itself. It is about whether democracy can remain emotionally anchored to memory, responsibility, gratitude, and shared sacrifice even during periods of distrust and strain. As millions of Americans travel this Memorial Day weekend, I hope they enjoy their families and communities. But I also hope they pause long enough to reflect.

Visit a cemetery. Teach children the difference between Memorial Day and Veterans Day. Attend a memorial service. Place flowers beside a grave. Pause at 3:00 p.m. for one minute of silence. And remember not only the dead, but also the living wounded who returned home carrying invisible wars inside them. Because the cost of war does not always end when soldiers come home alive.

I, Patrick Machayo, am the author of The Weight of the Biden Presidency: Power, Repair and the Strain of Governance, America at 250: Democracy at Risk, and the forthcoming book America Under Strain: The Unfinished Work of American Democracy.