A Funeral and Birthday

I performed my first military funeral as an OIC (officer-in-charge) since I returned from deployment this past Friday. On Saturday, I celebrated my son's first year of life--a year I mostly missed. But if I hadn't redeployed early, I would currently be down at Ft. Hood, out processing with the last group of my soldiers.

You can understand, then, why this would be a weekend of conflicted emotions.

I was a bit nervous about the funeral. How would I handle it in the light of my deployment? It helped that the other two soldiers got there at the last minute. Instead of deliberating over what would take place, I walked amongst the tombstones, practicing my sermon for Sunday evening. When my soldiers arrived (I have done 50 plus funerals with each of them, and deployed with one of them), we only had time to get in place before the proceedings started.

We were surprised to be joined by a troop from either the VFW or American Legion. (We are often surprised in this way. They were told we weren't coming. We were given no indication they were coming.) So we split up duties. Our vets provided the firing team and played the TAPS, my soldiers folded the flag and I presented it to the next-of-kin (NOK).

The ceremony started with the family's pastor providing a brief homily. Though I stand at attention the whole time, my heart leaps for joy whenever I hear the pastor share the truths of the Gospel, as was the case here. Everyone was then asked to stand for the presentation of military honors, at which point my team all pivoted toward the casket and my soldiers lifted the flag. The team of vets providing the three volleys of fire. As TAPS began to sound, I slowly raised my hand in salute toward the upraised flag.

TAPS used to always un-glue me a bit in the past--it strikes more at the heart than anything else we do. I gradually grew to tune in out, but not this time. I felt it strike anew. It reminded me of eating in the DFAC at Camp Phoenix. Every twenty minutes or so, the programming on the TV stops and names began to scroll across the screen, TAPS playing in the background. My last week there, I watched as the last name appeared on the screen--a name I knew.

My soldiers folded the flag. The one nearest me then handed me the flag and saluted. I pivoted, walked to the NOK, lowered to a half-kneel, held the flag before him, and said the familiar words, "This flag is presented on behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service." I handed him the flag, slowly stood up, looked him in the eyes, and saluted. He avoided my gaze--every person responds differently. We marched away, giving knowing nods to our veteran forebears, most of whom are in their sixties.

The next day, I gathered with a small group of loved ones to celebrate my son's birthday. A year ago (today), my wife gave birth to our precious boy, six months or so after we thought we would lose both of them. Four weeks later, I was on a plane for Ft. Hood. I virtually missed this past year. If I hadn't redeployed earlier, I would've arrived a few days from now. I was kept too busy all day to think about all these different dynamics.

If I can trace one feeling that was present for me throughout the day--it was gratitude. I do feel sorrow on occasion for what I missed. But I missed what I missed, if that makes sense. I can't tell exactly what I lost out on during that time. The most poignant memories I had of my son was his survival of a surgery while in the womb, and of late nights holding him as he slept on me during those four weeks after he first saw the light of day.

During those two weeks of hell last year when I thought both my wife and baby might die, I prayed that God would take me instead of them. I prayed that every day. Not long after, I was on my way to Afghanistan. Many days, as I started out on a convoy, I prepared myself for death, thanking the Lord for the lives of my wife and my boy. I was ready to die. I will always be ready to die. I have enjoyed thirty one years of life--more than I know what to do with. I am married to my best friend, and delight in my little boy. I will never be ready for my wife or son to go, nor was I ready for a younger service member to be blown up just a mile from the wife he was about to start a family with. God gives life and He takes it away. I may grieve, but may the name of the Lord be praised.

As I wrestle with guilt and sorrow, I bask in gratitude as well. This past year wasn't defined by my peril, but by God's gracious deliverance of my best friend and boy from peril.

And I remember that each step of the way, as a father has compassion on His children, so the Lord has compassion upon those that fear Him. Jesus, our good shepherd, carries His sheep upon His back along paths of righteousness for His name's sake. He carried my wife and boy through surgery and separation. He carried me through a deployment. He carried Dave to Heaven and carries Dana through this present vale of tears.

On the same day we celebrated our boy's birthday, Dana endured her first marriage anniversary apart from her beloved husband. Here is what she posted today:

4-19-2009... Miss you more than words David Lyon, my Love

Lord, have mercy on this precious widow.

30 The Lord your God who goes before you will himself fight for you, just as he did for you in Egypt before your eyes, 31 and in the wilderness, where you have seen how the Lord your God carried you, as a man carries his son, all the way that you went until you came to this place. (Deut. 1)