Does death matter?

At the beginning of The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien lists memories along with other gruesome, depressing objects; "They shared the weight of memory. They took up what others could no longer bear. Often, they carried eachother, the wounded or weak. They carried infections...lice and ringworm and leeches...they humidity, the monsoons..." It's as if O'Brien believes memories carry the same weight as a dead body, and that their attachment is as unwanted as a leech's. It's unclear if the memories are of the war, or prior to the war. Either way, they seem to be a burden. At the end of the story, O'Brien recalls his childhood love, Linda. This sweet, fond memory is comforting. Her death was O'Brien's first of many losses, yet "it doesn't matter," according to the dead. But then the lines between memory and imagination blur, and O'Brien wills his younger self to believe that Linda is still alive. It becomes clear that O'Brien's memories are only true to him, and not to anyone else.

In the beginning of the novel, Ted Lavender's death is used as a mechanism to tell time. In the second half of the novel, Kathleen's life (ex, her tenth birthday) is used to tell time. It's as if O'Brien has decided to stop living with the dead and his memories, and live with the living and the future. Unlike Norman, who still drives around in peaceful circles, not knowing how to live in a quiet, safe, world.