On Memorial Day I reflect on two deaths from the 9/11 wars, and what, from the comfort of my home as the chirping of the spring birds greets the dawn, I owe them. One was a Marine I only knew for an hour or so, and the other was a close friend of years and deployments.

The Marine died because he took a few seconds to push his men off of a rooftop first and didn’t jump down the stairwell to safety when he could have. He waited his turn, which as a leader, was to go last.

A bullet hit him in the back, just above the plate in his body armor, traveled through his chest, and exited the front. When I removed his body armor, the ugly little piece of metal fell into the hands of another Marine helping me work on him.

We tried the best we could, with what we had, but he died quickly and silently, in the shadows of a rooftop staircase in Iraq. He was from Georgia, and he is buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

My close friend died as a member of a special mission unit. At the time, the terrorist network run by Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, who commanded al-Qaida in Iraq, was strapping bombs on special needs children and adults and walking them into crowded marketplaces, and a raid targeting those jihadists resulted in his death.

My friend and another SEAL were clearing a room that held a hidden bunker and a machine gun, awaiting their entry. Both men were killed instantly. I learned of his death from a mutual friend on a snowy day in northern Vermont, working as a lab technician while I applied to medical school. My friend was from New Hampshire and is also buried in Arlington.

Both of these men are with me now and will always be. Their sacrifice, of all they were and would ever be, took away from them all the fruits our nation have enjoyed. T-ball games on warm spring days, hot cocoa fireside in a snowstorm, and love, community, and family were all sacrificed in dank little buildings in Iraq.

Making sense of their deaths, for me, was only possible if I viewed their sacrifice as a gift. It makes sense that my friend gave his life for me. It made sense that the young Marine gave his life, quite literally, in my stead.

Or at least that’s how I try to see it.

And while I can never repay what these men gave me, I can try to earn it by accepting the Sisyphean task of living a “good life.” Their gift was not free of obligation, or duty, and while it can never be repaid, it can be earned.

As I think through the meaning of Memorial Day, to honor all those who lost their lives in defense of America, I wonder what would these two men who live inside me feel about our democracy today?

On Friday, I am joining a coalition of veterans, including past leaders of the North Carolina National Guard, concerned about this issue. We are gathering at Greensboro’s Guilford Courthouse National Military Park.

Across the city, the state Republican Party is holding its annual gathering, which will include members of the Republican National Committee, like new co-chair former president Donald Trump’s daughter-in-law Lara Trump. In attendance at the GOP event are multiple individuals, who echo Trump’s doubts about the legitimacy of U.S. elections and his refusal to commit to accepting this year’s results.

The former president, who has displayed an unprecedented disrespect for military service over the years, has also repeatedly threatened violence if the election does not go his way.

We are demanding that Republican leaders now in Greensboro use all their influence to force Donald Trump to renounce these awful and dangerous threats of violence, which have no place in a democracy. Trump must commit to a peaceful and non-violent election season.

We have a duty to our fallen brothers and sisters, whom we honor this weekend. They fought battles abroad so we can live in a country free of such threats. Who among us will not honor their sacrifice?