How do Kiowa's concerns unify the story in Tim O'Brien's, "The Things They Carried?"

In Tim O'Brien's story, "The Things They Carried," Kiowa
in a unifying character based on his concerns.

Kiowa is a
Native American and carries his grandfather's hatchet, and mocassins which are a part of
his heritage, but these things make him believable. His commentary  through the
tale makes it much more human-centered, which I believe is the author's intent in
telling us personal information about the men in this unit. They are so much more than
the things they carried, and so much more than a number or a
statistic.

(In terms of the statistics, there were almost
57,000 American service men killed between 1965 and 1973, with approximately 1,700 men
missing in action, fates unknown. In 1968, 16,592 members of the armed forces were
killed, the most casualties in one year during this
war.)

Tim O'Brien, who served in the war, wanted people to
know the men who faced death, and hear the stories of some of the many who gave their
lives.

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(Despite being awarded the Purple Heart for
wounds he received, O'Brien loathed the war and everything about it, but it would become
the catalyst and continuing inspiration for his literary
career.)

Kiowa's presence,
and the things around which he centers his attention pull the various segments of the
story together. When Ted Lavender is killed, Kiowa is the one that continues to speak of
the incident which affects all of them strongly—especially the infantry unit's
leader, Lieutenant Jimmy Cross.

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The morning was...very still. Not good, Kiowa
said. He looked at the tunnel opening...Nothing moved. ...Ted Lavender popped a
tranquilizer and went off to pee. After five minutes, Lieutenant Jimmy Cross moved to
the tunnel, leaned down, and examined the darkness...

A few
moments later Lee Strunk crawled out of the tunnel...grinning, filthy but alive.
Lieutenant Cross nodded and closed his eyes while the others clapped Strunk on the back
and made jokes about rising from the dead.

...Lee Strunk
made a funny ghost sound, a kind of moaning, yet very happy, and right then...Ted
Lavender was shot in the head on his way back from peeing...Rat Kiley said, the guy's
dead. The guy's dead, he kept
saying...

Kiowa describes
Lavender's death several times, serving perhaps to try to deal with the reality of death
and his (our?) realization that "it was not like the
movies."

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...Kiowa, who saw it happen, said it was like
watching a rock fall, or a big sandbag or something—just boom, then down—not like the
movies where the dead guy rolls around and does fancy spins and goes ass over
teakettle—not like that, Kiowa said, the poor bastard just...fell. Boom. Down. Nothing
else.

Lieutenant Cross takes
it very hard.

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...then at dusk, while Kiowa explained how
Lavender died, Lieutenant Cross found himself trembling....He tried not to
cry...

...he sat at the bottom of his foxhole and
wept...

Here Kiowa speaks of
Cross' grief:

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Kiowa shook his head sadly and glanced over at
the hole where Lieutenant Jimmy Cross sat...After a time Kiowa
sighed.

One thing for sure, he said. The
lieutenant...cares.

Kiowa's
voice repeats the details of Lavender's death; he emphasizes its suddenness. This speaks
to another aspect of war—death can strike at any time. He further humanizes it by
showing how all the men are affected. There are no statistics here, only the dull
realization of a death among them. Kiowa's constant descriptions and commentary keeps
the thread of the loss of life moving through the list of "the things they
carried."