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A Single Image That Continues
to Haunt
By LILY
BURANA 25 May 2012 |
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Lily Burana is the author of I
Love a Man in Uniform: A Memoir of Love War and Other Battles
(Weinstein Books). Her husband, a former soldier, is a veteran of Operation
Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom. |
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Source: New
York Times Copied here 26 May 2012
Sid's copying Disclaimer |
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Memorial Day.
The unofficial kickoff to summer. Barbecues
sizzling. Lawn sprinklers hissing. Local marching bands tooting out Sousa.
Red, white, and blue bunting hanging from the porch railings, and on TV,
someone begins a recitation of Lt. Col. John McCrae’s classic poem: In
Flanders field, the poppies blow/Between the crosses row on row …
In the run-up to every Memorial Day
weekend, for the past several years, a certain photo takes top spot in
those most circulated among my fellow military and veteran wives. On blogs,
on social media sites, it is shared and “liked” over and over. Taken by
the photographer Todd Heisler from his 2005 award-winning series
for The Rocky Mountain News, “Jim Comes Home” — which documents the
return and burial of Second Lt. Jim Cathey of the Marines, who lost his
life in Iraq — the photo shows his pregnant widow, Katherine, lying on
an air mattress in front of his coffin. She’s staring at her laptop, listening
to songs that remind her of Jim. Her expression is vacant, her grief almost
palpable. |
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The photo, taken by New York Times's Todd
Heisler while he was a staff photographer at
Rocky Mountain News in 2005
The night before the burial of
her husband's body, Katherine Cathey refused to leave the casket, asking
to sleep next to his body for the last time. The Marines made a bed for
her, tucking in the sheets below the flag.
Before she fell asleep, she opened her
laptop computer and played songs that reminded her of 'Cat,' and one of
the Marines asked if she wanted them to continue standing watch as she
slept. "I think it would be kind of nice if you kept doing it," she said.
"I think that's what he would have wanted."
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It is the one and only photo that makes
me cry each time I see it. What brings the tears to my eyes is not just
the bereaved young woman, but the Marine who stands behind her. In an earlier
photo in the series, we see him building her a little nest of blankets
on the air mattress. Sweet Lord, I cry just typing the words, the matter-of-fact
tenderness is so overwhelming. So soldierly. But in this photo — the one
that lives on and on online — he merely stands next to the coffin, watching
over her. It is impossible to be unmoved by the juxtaposition of the eternal
stone-faced warrior and the disheveled modern military wife- turned-widow,
him rigid in his dress uniform, her on the floor in her blanket nest, wearing
glasses and a baggy T-shirt, him nearly concealed by shadow while the pale
blue light from the computer screen illuminates her like God’s own grace.
I believe this photo has had such a
long viral life not just because it is so honest but also because it is
so modern. During a spouse’s deployment, your laptop is your battle buddy.
Your sense of connection and emotional well-being is sustained via e-mail,
Facebook, Skype and Instagram. It appears, per Lieutenant Cathey’s widow,
that the same is true even in a time of loss. This heartbreaking — and
groundbreaking — photo showcases the intersection of technology and agony.
I’ll never forget trying to describe
the photo to my friend Veronica, an Army wife. I was standing in her stately
West Point living room, trying to detail what was so moving about the stalwart
posture of the Marine, the listlessness of the grieving wife, my voice
cracking, and before I was halfway through my description, tears started
streaming down her face. It is testimonial to the image’s power that it
even affects people who haven’t seen it.
The photo was later included in the
book “Final Salute,” which includes photographs by Mr. Heisler and
is written by Jim Sheeler, a former Rocky Mountain News reporter. The book
tells the story of United States Marines stationed in Colorado at Buckley
Air Force Base whose duty was to notify families of deaths in Iraq and
then escort the bodies home for burial. The book is based
on a series that also won a Pulitzer Prize for Mr. Sheeler in 2006.
(Mr. Heisler, who now works for The New York Times, also won a separate
Pulitzer for his photographs.)
That photo has an equally poignant companion
in the same series,
a view
from the civilian side, wherein Lieutenant Cathey’s coffin is being
unloaded from the cargo hold of a commercial airplane in Reno, Nev., as
the passengers look on through the windows. You can practically read the
thoughts on their solemn faces: “Who is that?” “What if that were my son
or daughter?” “I can’t imagine what his family must be feeling.” “How sad”
or “How noble.” I would bet you every penny I have that not one of them
was thinking, “When the hell is this going to be over so we can get off
this thing?” Two parents lost their son, a wife lost her husband, an unborn
child lost his father, and a handful of average citizens saw just how seriously
the military treats a fallen warrior’s final trip home. |
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Photo by Todd Heisler/The Rocky Mountain
News, via Associated Press
When 2nd Lt. James Cathey's body
arrived at the Reno Airport, Marines climbed into the cargo hold of the
plane and draped the flag over his casket as passengers watched the family
gather on the tarmac.
During the arrival of another Marine's
casket last year at Denver International Airport, Major Steve Beck described
the scene as one of the most powerful in the process: "See the people in
the windows? They'll sit right there in the plane, watching those Marines.
You gotta wonder what's going through their minds, knowing that they're
on the plane that brought him home," he said. "They're going to remember
being on that plane for the rest of their lives. They're going to remember
bringing that Marine home. And they should."
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On one hand, you could view this as
a perfect representation of how the majority of civilians are cosseted
from the atrocities of war — they’re in the comfy, climate-controlled cabin,
untouched by tragedy and free to move on, to gather their luggage, head
on home, and forget about it. On the other hand, you could view it as I
do: a stunning moment that makes clear our connectivity. They all took
that journey together, and on that airport tarmac, the much-discussed gap
between civilians and the military was closed, a bond forever fused by
the passengers’ bearing witness to the final stage of a sacrifice that
was both foreign to them and for them.
I believe that the civilian-military
gap isn’t always born of indifference, but rather, at times, a sense of
helplessness on the civilian side. What can I do? If you do nothing else,
you can remember those who have given their lives for their country. Our
country.
Remembrance, which may seem a modest
contribution in the moment, is a sacred act with long-term payoff — a singularly
human gift that keeps on giving, year after war-fatigued year. I don’t
need to remind you that America’s sons and daughters are still dying in
combat. I don’t want to browbeat you into feeling guilty for not doing
more. Instead, I want to tell you that as the wife of a veteran, it is
tremendously meaningful to know that on this Memorial Day, civilians will
be bearing witness and remembering in their own way — that those who are
gone are not forgotten. I also want to say that as you remember them, we
remember you.
Thank you.
Lily Burana |
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The series by
Jim Sheeler (2006) |
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