For about 30 years, I had been waiting for this moment as if it could come at any time. And by all rights with his failing health over many of those years, it was honestly like the sword of Damocles hanging over my head and I had this belief that I was truly ready for the moment when it arrives.
After all, everything else was merely putting his final orders into play…dealing with his personal effects, working with the funeral home who already had all of his arrangements and paperwork in order to allow him to enter Arlington. All of that was the easy part…there’s really not a whole lot of thinking or creativity that goes into checking off all of the tasks.
And all that time, other than one very brief moment on the porch on the night I was notified that he had passed away…I had never shed one tear. At least on the outside where anyone could see them. I had this idea in my head that I had to keep up appearances and “be strong” for the kids and everyone else…to do what was expected…to get the job done. Because that’s what he wanted and how he would have wanted it to happen. Evade, outwit, and overcome.
And I did just that even though inside I felt that a fairly big piece of me had left with him on that December evening. And in the days and weeks to come, there was that emptiness inside that coloured every day that passed.
Before I knew it, the rifles fired their three volleys and you can’t help but flinch even though you know it’s coming. The flag that had adorned his casket was folded with the same military precision as it is about 25 times a day on most days of the year.
Then there’s the moment where it truly becomes real…
“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.”
For thirty years I thought I was ready to hear those words and receive his burial flag with some sort of stoicism that I had tried to show the preceding nine months.
And honestly, I’m happy to say that I failed *MISERABLY* at it.
I’m sure that the gentleman who handed me the flag and spoke those immortal words has seen someone let loose with the tears before and would likely do so many times more.
But I had managed to make it to this point in time holding back the tears…and now I no longer needed to. Now I could let go as I felt I couldn’t before.
Honestly, I don’t remember a whole lot about the rest of the service in the state I was in. There was the salute from the flag bearer, the condolences of the chaplain and the representative of the Arlington Ladies who convey the condolences of the Secretary of the Army (or whatever branch of service) who dropped her hand on my shoulder as I’m desperately trying to turn off the tears and the retreat of the funeral team back over the small hill toward Ft Myer.
Now we’re finally alone at the grave site and can take in the view. The National Cathedral and the Washington Monument are visible in the distance. As is the roof of the Pentagon which tried desperately many times to get him to serve there and never succeeded which should have been career suicide for an officer were it not for his dear friend, General Quinn Becker who at one point was Surgeon General of the Army.
It seems somewhat appropriate that his place is there…in sight of the Pentagon but forever separated from it. Yes…I think Dad would have approved of the irony. And laughed out loud as mightily as he did when he’d play Pontius Pilate or Herod in the church Christmas play!
That, my friends, is the final thought I took away with me from Section 75 that day after we’d taken some pictures with Dad’s old uniform jacket and just took in the surroundings.
