I wrote this way back when season two aired in the U.S.
Since that day, Sybil could not repress the image of the young corporal’s face, sinking as all purpose and meaning drained from his life, and the blood-caked body that she cleaned before the undertaker loaded the remains of the man into a simple wooden casket and shipped the coffin off to his family. Courteney was not given a hero’s burial because he did not die on the battlefield. He was not remembered in honor because he slit his wrist. He slit his wrist to avoid a packaged life: a useless, purposeless existence in a crowded house where everyone saw him as a burden with a twine bow knotted around his patheticness.