Matthew Holley was the son every parent wants: smart, handsome, creative, and filled with purpose. A three-time AAU national karate champion, he was an exceptionally-skilled athlete. He was also a gifted amateur artist. With his talent and his drive, Matthew could have excelled in nearly any profession he chose. He chose to be a Soldier.

When Matthew enlisted in the United States Army in February of 2004, he was following the example of generations of his family. His father and his mother were both Army veterans. Between uncles, cousins, and grandfathers, the Holley family had collectively served more than 150 years in uniform since World War II, and Matthew was ready to do his part. But most importantly, Matthew was excited to be following in his father's footsteps.

The day he graduated from Air Assault School Matthew called home, saying, “I've got my wings, Dad. We can put them with yours.” Matthew put in for assignment to his father's old unit, the 101st Airborne. He got his wish and became a Screaming Eagle, just like his dad before him. He chose his military specialty, Combat Medic, because he wanted to help people, again following the example set by his father, who has been both a paramedic and a professional firefighter.

To say that John and Stacey Holley were proud of their son would be a monumental understatement. So they were understandably devastated when an Army sergeant and an Air Force chaplain rang their doorbell on November 16, 2005. Matthew had been killed by a roadside bomb in Iraq, only six weeks after reporting for duty in the Middle East.

John and Stacey were still reeling from the news when they were hit with another staggering revelation. Matthew's remains were being shipped to San Diego as freight on a commercial airliner. There would be no honor guard on the runway at Lindbergh Field . No ceremony would welcome this fallen Soldier home into the arms of his family. Matthew's casket would be traveling in the luggage compartment of the plane. It would be offloaded last, so that passengers on the flight wouldn't have to wait the few extra minutes for their suitcases to arrive on the baggage carousels.

The more John and Stacey Holley learned of the logistics of their son's impending arrival, the angrier they became. There would be a Soldier flying in the passenger cabin to act as escort for the body, but all semblance of military dignity would stop there. The casket containing Matthew's body would be unloaded using a forklift, deposited on a wheeled luggage cart, and hauled across the tarmac with all the care and ceremony given to a crate of running shoes. The family would not even be allowed to meet his remains on the runway. They could claim his casket from the holding area for oversized luggage.

The Holley family was appalled. Their only son, who had given his very life in the service of his country, was to be handled like a piece of freight. Even worse, he was to be treated as low priority freight: unloaded only after the rest of the luggage was safely in the hands of the passengers.

To their horror and amazement, John and Stacey learned that this is standard practice for returning the remains of deceased service members. Honors and ceremonies come later, at the memorial service and funeral. Everything before that point is handled using routine procedures designed for commercial freight.

The Holleys contacted the Casualty Assistance Officer assigned to their family, and he started making phone calls on their behalf. If John and Stacey had anything to say about it, their beloved son was not going to arrive like a crate of auto parts. They didn't expect waving flags, a military band, and a twenty-one gun salute. They simply wanted to meet their son's body on the runway with a small honor guard and a level of respect appropriate to a man who had sacrificed everything for his nation.

The Casualty Assistance Officer contacted the office of California Senator Barbara Boxer. The Senator made a few phone calls of her own, and suddenly all reluctance and red tape vanished. The Holleys were allowed to meet their son on the runway at Lindbergh Field. A small honor guard joined them in welcoming their fallen warrior home to American soil.

They had won the battle to bring Matthew home with dignity. For many families, it might have ended there. But twenty minutes on the phone with John Holley reminded me from where Matthew's strength and sense of purpose had come. Both of Matthew's parents are veterans. They're both patriots. They're both fighters. And neither one of them is prepared to stand by while other families' loved ones suffer similar indignities.

“We got Matt his due,” John Holley told me. “We could just let it drop. But we owe it to the mothers and fathers of other fallen servicemembers to keep at this until it changes.”

Congressman Duncan Hunter, Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee, has joined the Holley family in their efforts to change the policies governing the handling of deceased service members. He's written a formal letter to Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, requesting a revision of Department of Defense policy to establish a system for transporting military remains by military aircraft to the U.S. military base closest to the service member's hometown. The letter further requests that a small military honor guard be present to meet the aircraft, to render appropriate military honors to the deceased service member. Congressman Hunter has also initiated an amendment to House Resolution 1815 , proposing similar changes to U.S. law.

Opponents of such a policy shift are quick to point out that the military is prohibited from competing against civilian air carriers in non-combat operations. In simple terms, if commercial airlines can do a job that doesn't involve combat operations, the military cannot take it away from them.

That raises an interesting question in my mind. Can civilian airlines really do this job the way it needs to be done? That depends on where we draw the line. One school of thought suggests that skilled and expeditious handling is enough to preserve the dignity of a fallen Soldier. The tacit implication is that the niceties of ceremony are nothing more than unimportant pleasantries.

If that is true then an engagement ring received from the trembling fingers of a loving suitor is precisely equal to one that arrives in a cardboard box from a parcel delivery service – as long as the box is well packed and the contents arrive in good condition.

Human beings are creatures of symbolism and emotion. A heartfelt proposal of marriage can create a memory that will be cherished for a lifetime. A parcel arriving by express delivery cannot. Symbols matter. Emotions matter. Memories matter. We learn that lesson again every time some distraught man or woman rushes back into a burning house to rescue an album of treasured photographs.

Our symbols and our memories affect us so profoundly that we structure our very lives around them. We live and die by them. To treat such things as though they are unimportant is to disregard the very nature of human existence. If the tributes we offer to our fallen Soldiers are inconsequential, then we should do away with them entirely. If the flag draped casket, and the hand salute, and the pomp and ceremony that we render to our dead are a sham, we should save ourselves the trouble and the expense. No formal funeral. No folded flag. No gun salute. If these symbols and ceremonies are irrelevant, we should forego them completely and stop pretending. If -- on the other hand -- these symbols mean something, then they are as important on the runway at Lindbergh Field as they are at the cemetery.

Matthew John Holley was as bright and promising a young man as this nation has ever sired. He gave his life in the cause...