After we were in the air, the pilot announced that the Navy captain on board was escorting home the body of a soldier who had died in Iraq. When we landed at Logan Airport, the pilot made another announcement. Don't be alarmed by the flashing lights, he said. He explained that the Logan Fire Department had formed a color guard to honor the soldier.

I witnessed the Navy captain crying as he received an ovation from the passengers on Flight 1220. I witnessed outside my window the slow process of ensuring that the body of the fallen soldier was treated with the respect he deserved.

On most flights, as soon as that bulkhead door opens, there is a scramble to get off the plane. On Flight 1220, even though the door was open, an entire planeload of adults sat silently, waiting for the body to be removed. I witnessed the flag-draped coffin of one of our finest slowly carried away by six Navy officers.

I did not witness a single dry eye on the plane. I heard a woman nearby say, "Why must America's most honorable die for a decision made under less than honorable pretenses?"

I will never forget what I saw that night: real pain and sorrow from average Americans for a young soldier whom none of us have ever met.

Somewhere out there are this boy's parents, deeply mourning their loss. Sadly, our government's efforts haven't just insulated the public from the mounting losses; the families of the soldiers are unable to see and feel the people who mourn alongside them.

The leaders on Capitol Hill continue to fight about if and when to bring our troops home from the Iraqi debacle. But until they make the correct decision, our soldiers will continue to come home one by one -- in the cargo holds of planes just like Delta Flight 1220.