Death Terrifies Me. So I Asked My Grandfather, a War Veteran, How He Faced It
Photo by Cpl. Dylan Smith/ U.S. Marine Corps /> Watching my mother’s glossy wooden casket covered with yellow roses being lowered into the ground when I was only 10 taught me death’s brutal weight. Ever since, I’ve struggled to understand how people can move willingly toward it.
A few years ago, my neighbor invited me to her swearing-in ceremony. She had joined the Army. I initially thought she was kidding. She was a wife, mother of a 3-year-old son, and registered nurse who ate organic, liked designer clothing, and hosted Christmas ornament exchanges.
The author with her parents, grandparents, and brother. Her mother died when Amanda was 10 years old. (Photo courtesy of Amanda Harding) alt="" class="wp-image-45053" title="" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?resize=1030%2C773&ssl=1 1030w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?resize=400%2C300&ssl=1 400w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?resize=1536%2C1152&ssl=1 1536w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?resize=1200%2C900&ssl=1 1200w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?resize=800%2C600&ssl=1 800w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?resize=600%2C450&ssl=1 600w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?resize=200%2C150&ssl=1 200w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?resize=2000%2C1500&ssl=1 2000w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?resize=780%2C585&ssl=1 780w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8.jpeg?w=2048&ssl=1 2048w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-8-1030x773.jpeg?w=370&ssl=1 370w" sizes="(max-width: 780px) 100vw, 780px" />
Her ceremony brought back the same question I had wondered about my grandfather, who served in the Marines for nearly four years: Wasn’t the military a death sentence?
I plan to spend my life keeping death as far away as possible. People who join the military seem to willingly walk toward it. It is unfathomable to me.
I cry while watching televised military ceremonies, such as the president laying a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I feel guilty, insecure, and selfish admitting that while others are willing to die for our country, I am not. Motherhood has made the gap even wider for me. Loving five children has only intensified my desire to keep death and grief as far away from my family as possible.
I couldn’t understand why someone, anyone, would make the choice to join the military.
Jay Crum at his brother and sister-in-law’s headstone in 2026. The veteran routinely visits and maintains the graves of family members and a fellow Marine. (Photo by Tricia Headley) alt="" class="wp-image-45054" title="" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?resize=773%2C1030&ssl=1 773w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?resize=300%2C400&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?resize=768%2C1024&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?resize=1152%2C1536&ssl=1 1152w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?resize=900%2C1200&ssl=1 900w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?resize=600%2C800&ssl=1 600w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?resize=450%2C600&ssl=1 450w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?resize=150%2C200&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?resize=1200%2C1600&ssl=1 1200w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?resize=780%2C1040&ssl=1 780w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?resize=400%2C533&ssl=1 400w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9.jpeg?w=1536&ssl=1 1536w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-9-773x1030.jpeg?w=370&ssl=1 370w" sizes="(max-width: 773px) 100vw, 773px" /> Which made me wonder about Pap, my grandfather Jay Crum, who enlisted at age 18 to escape the family farm.
He had spent his 94th birthday visiting the family graves: his parents, his in-laws, my Nan’s, and my mom’s.
“I have two more gravesites to get to,” he told me over the phone. “My brother,” he paused, and then added, “and another guy.”
Jay Crum enlisted in the Marine Corps at age 18 and later deployed to Korea. (Photo courtesy of the author) alt="" class="wp-image-45055" title="" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-1-e1792179624551.png?resize=809%2C1030&ssl=1 809w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-1-e1792179624551.png?resize=314%2C400&ssl=1 314w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-1-e1792179624551.png?resize=768%2C978&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-1-e1792179624551.png?resize=1206%2C1536&ssl=1 1206w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-1-e1792179624551.png?resize=1200%2C1529&ssl=1 1200w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-1-e1792179624551.png?resize=804%2C1024&ssl=1 804w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-1-e1792179624551.png?resize=780%2C994&ssl=1 780w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-1-e1792179624551.png?resize=400%2C510&ssl=1 400w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-1-e1792179624551.png?w=1413&ssl=1 1413w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-1-e1792179624551-809x1030.png?w=370&ssl=1 370w" sizes="auto, (max-width: 780px) 100vw, 780px" />
Two summers earlier, Pap and my dad had driven a couple of towns over looking for the grave of Owen Neumyer, a Marine Pap had served with. They searched for an hour in the heat before they found it. The headstone had been buried beneath about three inches of sod and Pap cleared it away with his hands.
Pap visits cemeteries. I avoid them. What did he know about grief that I didn’t? Perhaps his service in the Marine Corps had taught him something about death that I hadn’t learned.
So one day I called him. Pap answered right away.
“Is this Amanda Marie?!”
I had prepared a list of questions about his time in the military and started with the basics: Why did you join the Marines? How old were you? What did your parents think?
Then, “Weren’t you scared to go to Korea? Did you cry or want to, like, not go?”
“We were ready to go,” he replied. “We were trained.”
I thought he’d misunderstood me. Every story I’d ever told myself about the troops depended on fear being present. It wasn’t.
“Did you know anyone who died there?”
He told me about Owen, who, like him, was from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. They drove back and forth to Camp Lejeune in North Carolina in Pap’s car every time they had a vacation or a three-day break. He probably made that trek 30 times, often with Owen in the car.
Owen eventually went to Vietnam, where he was killed about a month into his tour.
Amanda Harding with her Pap, Jay Crum. (Photo courtesy of the author) alt="" class="wp-image-45056" title="" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?resize=1030%2C773&ssl=1 1030w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?resize=400%2C300&ssl=1 400w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?resize=1536%2C1152&ssl=1 1536w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?resize=1200%2C900&ssl=1 1200w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?resize=800%2C600&ssl=1 800w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?resize=600%2C450&ssl=1 600w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?resize=200%2C150&ssl=1 200w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?resize=2000%2C1500&ssl=1 2000w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?resize=780%2C585&ssl=1 780w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10.jpeg?w=2048&ssl=1 2048w, https://i0.wp.com/thewarhorse.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/null-10-1030x773.jpeg?w=370&ssl=1 370w" sizes="auto, (max-width: 780px) 100vw, 780px" />
“What made you want to go visit Owen’s grave?”
“I wanted to put a flag there. A Marine Corps flag … and it was Veterans Day.”
I thought about all the Veterans Days that had passed when I had never called Pap, never even had my kids send cards.
“He gave his life for our country, and I knew him, and he was a good friend of mine. And I just want to respect him, put stuff on from time to time, because his parents are all gone, you know what I mean? And his sister lives in New Jersey. So ain’t nobody ever puts anything on. I see his picture and I just want to do something for him.”
I’d been searching for a hidden philosophy about war, grief, or sacrifice.
Pap didn’t philosophize about death. He didn’t tell me war had made him fearless or that service had taught him something civilians could never understand.
He visited Owen’s grave because Owen was his friend and had given his life, and Pap wanted to show respect.
I had been looking for an explanation complicated enough to make sense of people who willingly risk death. Instead, Pap gave me something simpler: He cared for someone who served.
I still don’t think I could enlist like Pap or my neighbor. But I understand better now that love for country and comrades can motivate just as powerfully as fear.
This Reflection from The War Horse was edited by Kim Vo, fact-checked by Trey Strange, and copy-edited by Mollie Turnbull.
