Full Measures

“As they lowered his coffin into the icy ground, I raced forward. […] ‘[D]on’t you worry about them, not Grams, or Mom, April, or Gus. I will take care of them, I promise.’”

At her father’s graveside, Ember makes a solemn vow that solidifies her new role as the family’s primary caregiver, thematically addressing The Impact of Grief on Relationships and Familial Roles. This moment solidifies her transition from college student to surrogate parent, a promise that dictates her subsequent decisions. The reference to the “icy ground” objectively reflects Ember’s frozen, grief-stricken state, as she prioritizes her family’s needs over her own.

“Your father died, not you. Go dress yourself, grab your backpack, and get to school.”

Grams delivers this directive to April in an unsentimental, pragmatic tone, counteracting the family’s immense grief. Her words articulate a core tenet of military family resilience: The duty of those left behind to continue their lives, even when facing profound loss. Grams’s command is a direct rebuke to April’s self-destructive behavior and communicates a guiding philosophy that Ember must also adopt to manage the household.

“I just meant that we have a plan, and we stick to it. We’ve been together over three years, and we have two more before graduation. Then Riley wants to go to law school so he can prep for politics. He wants to get married before law school.”

During the car ride to Breckenridge, Ember outlines the meticulous five-year plan she shares with Riley (which she later concedes was mostly Riley’s plan). This articulation of a highly controlled, predictable future is ironic given that she’s adjusting to a reality in which her family’s sense of order and control has been shattered. Her statement thematically illustrates The Illusion of Control in a World of Uncertainty, highlighting the fragility of a life built on rigid expectations moments before it collapses.

“I want this; I want you, Ember. But tonight is about you, not us. […] [W]e’re not doing this […] [u]ntil it’s about us, and no one else.”

After a night of extreme emotional trauma for Ember, Josh deliberately halts their sexual encounter, establishing a crucial distinction between lustful behavior and meaningful connection. His dialogue demonstrates a respect for her emotional vulnerability, refusing to let their relationship begin as a mere reaction to her grief and Riley’s betrayal. Josh’s restraint characterizes him as patient and empathetic, laying the foundation for a relationship built on substance that contrasts with the superficiality of Ember’s now-defunct plan with Riley.

“It’s not the waiting that gets me, not anymore. It’s the not knowing if he would come home. I won’t live like that. I can’t put everything in my life on hold, not like she did. Everything she did was about my father, and now what does she have? She’s a train wreck.”

In a conversation with Josh, Ember rejects the idea of a long-distance military relationship, creating significant irony, as she’s unaware of his connection to the Army. Her statement, which refers to observing her mother’s debilitating grief, establishes the foundation of her primary internal conflict. This moment explicitly states the thematic argument for Weighing the Risk of Love Against the Fear of Loss, foreshadowing the immense personal barrier Ember must overcome to be with Josh.

“Grief, by its very nature, is designed to suck the life out of us because we are so willing to join our dead. It’s supposed to be this hard to figure out what to do next, but it’s that ‘next’ that makes us the living, and not our dead.”

As Ember struggles with her family’s collapse and her uncertain future, Gram offers this piece of wisdom, personifying grief as a malevolent force that can “suck the life out of us.” Her words validate the severity of Ember’s struggle against an overwhelming emotional state. By framing survival as a conscious choice (the “next” that separates the living from the dead), Grams provides a philosophical anchor for the novel’s exploration of healing after tragedy.

“Our eyes met, and something intangible passed between us, something that felt dangerously like hope.”

Following weeks of her mother’s persistent shock, Ember shares a moment of connection with her sister, April, during the first family dinner since their father’s death. The choice of the words “dangerously like hope” reveals Ember’s deep-seated fear of further emotional devastation, suggesting that embracing hope feels like a profound risk. This brief sentence marks a fragile turning point in the family’s grieving process and underscores the precariousness of their recovery.

“My father wasn’t a victim. He was at war.”

Ember delivers this terse rebuttal to her uncle and a reporter who are attempting to exploit her father’s death as a sensationalist news story about “Green-on-Blue killings” (111). The quote draws a sharp distinction between the public’s desire to label and consume tragedy versus the family’s private understanding of a soldier’s sacrifice. Ember’s declarative statement rejects the news-crew narrative, asserting her father’s agency and the dignity of his service, even in death.

“‘You hate the army that much?’ I squeezed him tighter. ‘No. I don’t hate the army. I just don’t want anyone I love in it anymore. I couldn’t lose another person I loved.’”

Speaking to her younger brother, Gus, after a volatile confrontation, Ember articulates the precise nature of her internal conflict. Her distinction between hating the institution and fearing the loss it can cause is crucial to her character development. This quiet admission reveals that her opposition to the military is rooted in trauma and love, directly connecting military service to both pride and pain.

“Whatever. I needed him, but was too frightened of what that meant to acknowledge it, because more than anything, I needed myself. Why did it always feel like the part of me I needed was buried inside Josh?”

After Ember impulsively kisses Josh, her italicized internal monologue exposes the deep conflict between her desires and her fears. The rhetorical question at the end illustrates her struggle for an independent identity in the wake of trauma, suggesting that her attraction to Josh intertwines with her fear of losing herself again. This moment thematically encapsulates Weighing the Risk of Love Against the Fear of Loss, framing her emotional state as a battle for self-preservation.

“His pictures? His journal? Everything we had of him? You just erased it like you were taking out yesterday’s trash?”

During Ember’s confrontation with Captain Wilson, her escalating questions express her outrage upon learning that her father’s laptop was wiped clean. The simile comparing the erasure of her father’s digital life to “taking out yesterday’s trash” conveys the family’s feeling of violation and the impersonal cruelty of military policy. Ember’s response highlights the secondary losses families can suffer when institutional procedure strips away the personal remnants of a soldier’s life.

“‘Your father died. You did not. I did not. […] It is the business of the living to keep on doing so. We are no exception. We are not the first family to lose a man to war, and I fear we will not be the last. But we will be resilient.”

As Grams stitches a gold star onto the family’s service flag, she reiterates part of her earlier directive to April in a statement to Ember. Her short, declarative sentences give the pronouncement a tone of irrefutable fact and provide a guiding principle for the family’s recovery. The quote directly articulates the novel’s exploration of The Impact of Grief on Relationships and Familial Roles, defining resilience not as an absence of pain but as the conscious choice to continue living.

“What you call being perfect is actually me treading water with every ounce of strength I have so I don’t drown.”

Ember confesses this to her sister, April, after April accuses her of being unaffected by their father’s death. The metaphor of “treading water” reframes Ember’s stoicism as a desperate act of survival rather than a sign of emotional detachment. This admission dismantles the illusion of control she has projected, revealing the psychological weight of her assumed responsibilities and adding depth to her character.

“Seeing him brought to mind all those horrible analogies in romance novels, like water in a drought, sunshine in winter, color in a world of gray. Yes, yes, yes. He was all of that and more.”

This moment of self-aware internal monologue marks Ember’s definitive emotional pivot from Riley to Josh. As Ember consciously references and then embraces romantic tropes to articulate the depth of her feelings, the novel uses the repetition of, “Yes, yes, yes,” to communicate a cathartic acceptance, signaling that she’s no longer fighting her attraction and is ready to acknowledge its significance.

“‘Keep it in your pants, Sam. Not sure about you, but I have no desire to live the life our moms do.’ Or did, rather. ‘There’s zero chance in hell I’d chase after a military guy.’”

Ember’s words to her roommate, Sam, establish the central conflict of her emotional journey. Ironically, her adamant rejection of military life (a direct result of her father’s death) foreshadows the devastating revelation of Josh’s own military commitment (and the fact that her father saved Josh’s life in Afghanistan). The statement is an absolute vow, which she later confronts, thematically engaging with Weighing the Risk of Love Against the Fear of Loss.

“Everything was set, and straight, and perfect. Now everything is just a jumble, and I don’t know how to clean it up without him telling me.”

Ember’s confession to Josh reveals her deep-seated reliance on external validation and structure. The polysyndeton in the phrase “set, and straight, and perfect” emphasizes the rigid order she has lost, while the metaphor of a “jumble” reflects her internal chaos and the chasm she feels because she can’t ask her father for advice. This moment thematically highlights The Illusion of Control in a World of Uncertainty, explicitly addressing how tragedy has left her feeling directionless.

“‘Some dreams aren’t dead, just sleeping. I need you to know every option you have, and not to be scared of them. More than this craving to have you near me, I want you happy.’ That was the moment I fell in love with Josh Walker.”

This quote marks a pivotal turning point in the novel, functioning as the anagnorisis, or moment of critical discovery, in Ember’s feelings for Josh. His words to her characterize him as selfless, directly contrasting with Riley’s controlling influence over Ember’s life plans. By prioritizing her happiness and encouraging her dormant ambitions, Josh subverts her expectation of romantic relationships, catalyzing the shift in her emotions from physical attraction to genuine love.

“But this wasn’t the same version the paper had printed. That one had been cropped, apparently. I caught the details behind him now, the ones left off the print I had. In this picture, the crowd of students was visible behind him in beautiful detail. I had always wondered what he had been staring at, longing for. I traced my finger over the glass, following his line of sight. It was me.”

The State Championship photo represents incomplete perception and romantic destiny. The uncropped image is a metaphor for Ember’s uncovering a deeper, previously hidden truth about her connection to Josh. This discovery retroactively reframes their entire history, creating a sense of inevitability that intensifies the impact of the impending revelation about his military service.

“The uniform slid from the hanger, and I held it out in front of me. The stripes of a sergeant were fastened across the chest, and across from the US ARMY tape was the word that froze up the love and hope in my heart. ‘Walker.’”

This moment represents the climax of Ember’s internal conflict, in which Josh’s military uniform physically manifests her trauma. The use of precise, objective details like “the US ARMY tape” builds toward the devastating revelation that Josh is an active member of the military. The final, fragmented sentence isolates Josh’s last name, syntactically fusing his identity with the institution that caused her deepest pain and symbolizing her paralyzing fear.

“‘Let me tell you, Josh. Heroes die!’ My voice caught, and I sucked in a strangled breath. ‘They die.’”

As Ember confronts Josh about his secret military service, her words externalize her trauma, transforming the abstract concept of heroism into a concrete source of pain. The line directly links her father’s death to her fear for Josh, framing the theme of Weighing the Risk of Love Against the Fear of Loss. The visceral, declarative statement, followed by partial repetition (“They die”), emphasizes the rawness of grief that has become an immutable fact in her mind.

“That from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain.”

In a history class quiz, Josh reads aloud the line from the Gettysburg Address that Ember has chosen. This use of intertextuality elevates the novel’s conflict, equating personal sacrifice in love and war with national sacrifice. The phrase “the last full measure of devotion” is the titular concept, framing military service not as a job but as an ultimate commitment that Ember struggles to comprehend. The passage reveals her subconscious effort to find meaning in her father’s death.

“God, Mom! I opened the damn door! You said not to because you knew! And I opened it and let them in. They destroyed our family, and I opened the damn door!”

In this cathartic moment with her mother, Ember’s confession pinpoints the source of her misplaced guilt and her thematic struggle regarding The Illusion of Control in a World of Uncertainty. The repetition of “I opened the damn door” transforms a simple action into the symbolic nexus of her family’s tragedy, directly invoking the door as a symbol. This outburst is the psychological climax of Ember’s grieving process, allowing her to articulate the irrational burden she has carried.

“I can’t live in fear of a doorbell. I won’t ever open a door to that again. I barely made it through losing Dad, and I know that was because you held me up. I wouldn’t survive losing you; it would […] leave me to where I’d be dead, too, only I’d still have a heartbeat.”

After learning of Josh’s profound connection to her father, Ember explicitly defines her core trauma. She uses metonymy, substituting “doorbell” for the devastating news and irreversible loss that opening the door now represents. This statement connects the door symbol to Ember’s fear of loving another soldier, framing her inability to be with Josh as an act of self-preservation rather than a simple choice.