While not nearly as frequent as a couple of years ago, I still venture out to conduct a funeral as the OIC (officer-in-charge) on occasion. Most of the time, I go with my old friend the MSG (Master Sergeant). MSG, a hard-of-hearing veteran NCO of over 30 years experience trained me for funerals years ago, and has been part of my team for probably half of the 250+ funerals I have done.
On Thursday, I traveled with the MSG to our second funeral of the week--several hours west in the mountains of West Virginia. We passed through old towns dating back to the 1700s, winding through verdant pastures and lush mountainsides in the process. When we arrived in our particular mountainside destination, we had to venture off the known map in order to find the cemetery.
In this remote location, we would be burying a World War Two veteran. Joining us on this mission were about eight American Legion vets, ranging from the sixties to eighties in terms of age (MSG will be there in a few years). Most of them date back to the Vietnam era. I was proud to serve alongside of them in conducting this funeral.
A few remarks were given of this deceased hero, and then we were given the reigns. MSG called every to stand for the presentation of military honors. The two of us, posted on either side of the coffin, turned in and slowly raised a salute to the flag. The firing team fired off three volleys, and TAPS sounded on the bugle. When the bugle stopped, MSG and I slowly lowered our salutes, grabbed the corners of the flag, raised it, and simultaneously side-stepped into the clearing between the coffin and attendees. We folded it lengthwise together, then I held it fast as he slowly folded it toward me. When he reached the stars of the flag, he held the folded portion open and I tucked in the remainder. He held it to his chest, straightened it, and handed it to me. He then saluted and walked off.
I rotated the flag in my hands so that the broad side was facing out, then turned toward the elderly widow. As I slowly walked toward her, the same thoughts crossed through my mind that come at every funeral: How long were they married? What is it like to lose your best friend after decades of life together? What were they like when they were young together? I reached her seat and got down into a semi-kneeling position so that I could look her in the eyes.
"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 of your loved one's honorable and faithful service."
I always emphasize certain portions of that script when I speak, and it never comes across as well-rehearsed. I always emphasize the "our" so that my own care and love in known, even in this informal script.
After I stopped speaking, I slowly rose to the feet, snapped to attention, and saluted--maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. I then did a right-face and walked away and joined MSG in walking back to our vehicle. As I peeled off the white gloves and removed my jacket and head gear, an older woman walked up to me and said "I know you do a lot of these, but it really seemed like you cared. Thank you."
"Ma'am," I responded, "I care about each and every one." She said, "I can tell," and walked off.
When I got home several hours later, I was greeted by a "Daddy!" and was able to scoop up my little boy. I love returning to him and our baby girl after a funeral. Life screams out against death. Some day, their mother and I will pass into glory. A few decades later, in God's grace, they will follow. And I hope and pray that they, with their parents, will be able to stare death in the eyes, much as I stared at that dear widow in the eyes--without fear and full of longing for the future world, where pain and death will be put under the feet of our Savior.
