Say Their Names, Have the Dance Party

Honoring Their Sacrifice by Living With Gratitude

As I walked through the rows of white headstones in Section 60 at Arlington National Cemetery, I found myself reading the names etched into the stone. I noticed the ranks, military honors, wars and operations in which they served, and dates that marked the boundaries of lives that could never be fully captured on a headstone.

Then I looked to my right and saw a date I immediately recognized: August 6, 2011.

I was not looking for the graves of those lost aboard Extortion 17. I simply happened to be walking along that row when I began to recognize names. I never knew them personally, but I’ve heard so much about them and the catastrophe that rocked the special operations world, a community my family is part of. I also served in an Air Force unit that was deeply affected by that loss, so the history of Extortion 17 remains fresh in my mind.

There was something profound about stumbling upon those graves rather than seeking them out. I felt as though I had arrived there for a reason. As I read their names and walked beside their graves, I was able to pause, reflect, and share their story with the people walking alongside me.

I have heard it said that a soldier dies two deaths. The first is their mortal death. The second comes when people stop saying their name.

That thought stayed with me throughout Arlington.

The Stories Behind the Stones

I visited the gravesite of Tyson Nick. I never knew Tyson, and I never had the opportunity to meet him, but he served in the same unit as my husband. But I did know his wife, and I remember the exact moment I learned of his death.

I did not know his family well, but his death may have been the first time I truly saw the impact of loss on a military spouse I knew. It made the possibilities that accompany military service feel painfully real.

I also visited the gravesite of Edward Cantrell and his two daughters. I did not know them, but I remember reading about the tragedy in Fayetteville, North Carolina. He entered their burning home to try to save his little girls, and they did not make it out.

He was a Green Beret. As the wife of a Green Beret, I know my husband would do the same for our children without hesitation.

That story speaks volumes about the courage carried by those who serve. Heroism does not exist only on a battlefield. Sometimes it is running into a burning home for the people you love. Sometimes it is running toward danger for people you have never met. I shared Edward's story with those beside me that day because his name, his daughters' names, and their story deserve to live on.

Then I visited Roger Thompson's gravesite. We knew Roger and his family well. He served in 7th Special Forces Group with my husband. I knew his wife, Stephanie, and we had the privilege of watching their daughter, Mack, grow up from afar.

Roger did not die in combat, but his impact in bringing men and women home from combat exemplified the kind of leader we should all strive to be.

Roger's grave is also a reminder that when a service member leaves this world, loved ones remain behind and must somehow find a way forward. Mack is now in college and doing so well. Although we have not stayed in constant contact, watching her grow from a little girl into the young woman she is today has been a gift.

Roger would be so proud of her. I know he would be proud of Stephanie, too.

As you walk through Arlington, the headstones tell you names, ranks, military honors, and where someone served. Some carry a few brief words chosen by those who loved them. But what is largely missing is the fullness of their stories.

Who were they beyond the uniform? What did they look like when they laughed? What compelled them to serve? What was their why? Who loved them, and who still feels the weight of their absence today?

Even the physical act of looking at a headstone teaches us to look beyond the service member alone. On the back of many headstones is the name of a spouse who chose to be buried alongside the person with whom they shared a life.

On some, you find the name of a child. It can be easy to walk past without looking behind the stone, but when you do, you see another part of the burden the family carried. You see a spouse's life and service honored alongside the service member's journey. You see that military service was never carried by one person alone.

Not a Tourist Attraction

Arlington also carries a tension I do not think we discuss enough.

Many people visit it as part of a trip to Washington, D.C. For them, it may be a historic destination or a place on a vacation itinerary. For military-connected families, it is not a place on a bucket list. It may be the resting place of a friend, teammate, spouse, parent, or child. It may hold the name of someone whose death changed the direction of their life. It may represent a future they quietly know could become their own.

It can be difficult for a military-connected person to carry that emotional weight while watching others smile for photographs among the headstones. This is not to say those visitors intend to be disrespectful. Most likely do not. But people walking the same path may be seeing Arlington through entirely different lenses because of what they have lived.

There is another side to that tension. I want Americans to visit Arlington. I want them to see the headstones, read the names, learn the stories, and understand the gravity and reality of military service. I hope they leave with a deeper sense of what service and sacrifice require. I simply ask them to come with awareness and reverence, understanding that someone walking nearby may not be sightseeing.

They may be grieving.

They may be remembering.

They may be confronting the possibility that one day, their own family could be represented there.

My husband and I are both still serving, and we have discussed our own plans to be buried at Arlington. That knowledge made the gravity of the place even more immense. As I watched friends walk the rows, pausing at the graves of those they recognized, those they knew, and those they did not, I saw a physical representation of the weight the military and veteran community carries.

The Reality Behind Thank You

In the military community, the possibility of loss is a reality we live with every day. Yet sometimes it takes coming to a place like Arlington to feel the full weight of that burden.

As a military spouse, I know others who have received the dreaded knock at the door. We all hope it will never come to ours. But for those of us who understand what wearing the uniform means, we know it is a very real possibility. Arlington brings that possibility to the forefront.

The memories of rifle volleys at a funeral. The sobs of a spouse who never had the chance to say goodbye. The cries of children who will never see their mother or father again. In Arlington, it all becomes real.

So when you thank a military or veteran family, I hope you understand more fully what that thank you carries. Current conflicts and deployments may feel distant to someone who is not military-connected. For the people serving and the families who love them, the burden is very real, and it is very heavy.

Military families may appear to shoulder that burden with ease, but that does not mean it is easy. What our Nation asks of service members, veterans, and their families is immense. We must not forget that putting men and women in harm's way creates effects far beyond the battlefield. Those effects are carried by the people who live with them, care for them, and remain when they leave this earth.

Hope and the Next Generation

I also had the privilege of participating in a wreath-laying ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Watching the Sentinels' precision felt like the physical embodiment of the discipline military members carry. Every movement conveyed devotion to duty and reverence for those whose names are unknown.

i also watched a group of school-aged children participate in a wreath-laying ceremony. Seeing them gave me hope. They may not yet have fully understood the gravity of the place or the ceremony, but they were there.

They were learning.

They were being taught that remembering is an obligation passed from one generation to the next.

They are the generation that will inherit this history.

Some may become the next generation of the all-volunteer force. All of them will help determine whether service and sacrifice remain understood and valued in our country. They need to know the names and recognize what generations of Americans before them were willing to give.

Have the Dance Party

It took me a few days to understand my deepest takeaway from Arlington. It was this: have the dance party.

Take the small moments of joy and lean into them.

Life can consume us. One responsibility rolls into the next, and the ordinary moments pass before we realize how much they mattered.

As a mother of four young children, I see how the smallest things bring them the greatest joy.

So I am going to slow down.

I am going to have the dance party.

I am going to build those memories with them and with the other people I love.

There are families who no longer have that opportunity. There are people who gave the ultimate sacrifice so that I have the privilege of making memories with mine. Remembering them should not only shape how we honor the dead. It should shape how fully we live.

Visit these places, even when it is hard. Look at the front of the headstone, and remember to look at the back. Learn their names. Ask who they were. Tell their stories. Understand what their families continue to carry.

Say their name. And then, in gratitude for the life and time we have been given, have the dance party.