MEADVILLE, Pa. — I looked for some comfort, some solace among the long, straight rows of headstones, but it wasn’t to be found the day my cousin was buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

What I did find was a new perspective on the war, one that I believe is shared by too few and one that makes me concerned for the future.

John Quinlan was a man who believed, as I do, that there will be times in our history when we will be called upon to fight and die for our country. Being ready for those moments was something that fit this 6-foot-4 red-haired fireball of energy perfectly. John believed in and loved his work so much that his commitment was exceptional. After 10 years as a Marine he joined the Army to become a pilot in the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, flying Chinook helicopters on missions involving special forces. These men and women know that they are the tip of the spear — when trouble comes they are among the first called, the first to kill and the first to die.

John served in every major conflict since 1990 — including five deployments in support of Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan and two deployments in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom.

And so it was that on Feb. 18 during a nighttime mission in southeastern Afghanistan, John was killed in a helicopter crash that claimed seven other lives. Fourteen survived.

John left behind a wife and three daughters. The youngest is 3.

I knew this could happen, but just like the news of the war, they were facts absent persistent, visceral personal impact. From time to time, concerns for John’s safety were a focus, just like from time to time news of the war has been a central concern for me, but these times would pass as the ebb and flow of “normal” life went on.

Unfortunately, this is how it is for most of us. Unlike many other wars in our past, in the Global War on Terror only a very small percentage of Americans have felt the personal impact of a death or an injury. And, outside of the military community, almost none of us has experienced any significant sacrifice because of the war.

All that changed for me at Arlington.

It changed as my cousin’s coffin was borne by horse-drawn caisson to its final resting place. It changed as I watched his children and wondered about their future. And it changed as I looked into the eyes of the Marines, Army Rangers and other service men and women who gathered to mourn his passing, all the while knowing that they could be the next buried here.

I began to feel the war as an inescapable, unrelenting presence.

Anyone who serves in the military entrusts their very lives to us. In exchange, it is expected that we call on them with a clear understanding of the consequences.

But I wonder if most Americans truly do understand the consequences. How can it be said that we do truly understand the consequences when we so easily went to war and so poorly planned for it? How can it be said that we truly understand the consequences when so many appear to be ready to condemn the effort and abandon the war? And how can it be said that we understand the consequences when the broken bodies who return from the war are provided less than the best medical treatment we can offer?

I think all of these things are symptoms of too few of us actually feeling the war, and as I looked into the eyes of service men and women at my cousin’s funeral, this realization was almost too much to bear.

I am worried that one of the casualties of this war will be the people’s credibility with our men and women in uniform. How can we expect them to lay down their bodies, their lives for us given the decisions we’ve made, the way we’re making them and the help we haven’t provided?

And I am worried that another casualty of this war will be our credibility with our enemies. They will be emboldened as they see how we choose to use our fighting men and women and how we react to adversity.

This is how I started thinking when I started feeling the war. I hope my fears are misplaced. If they are not, God save us all.

Bywater is editor of The Meadville, Pa., Tribune. You can reach him at pbywater@meadvilletribune.com.