A Solemn Salute

At first, I wasn't even planning on going.  After nearly a week away from work, I figured that it was time to go back to East, to return to the serious business of being a school librarian.  Whatever that means.

Sheesh, I can be such a knucklehead.

Finally--thankfully--I thought of my mom--frail and bent, alone and confused--and I realized that I should skip school and go to Dick's internment this morning.   He was, after all, a father to me and a grandfather to my children for these past 16 years.  Not to mention the wonderful role he played in my mom's life all these years.

So, when we drove out to Lincoln Memorial this morning, my thoughts were: Well, it's good I'm going, because mom will appreciate this.  

Our car eased around a curve, and there they stood, two women in military uniforms.  They were saluting.  Just behind them, a line of men--also in uniform--was standing at attention, guns resting atop their shoulders.

And that's when the tears came.  Finally.

Dick was gone.

All those years ago, a younger Dick was flying a plane over Africa.  And these uniformed strangers were here on a misty, breezy morning, thanking him for his service.

My God.  How could I be nearly 54 years old and have no prior experience with a military honor guard?

It was one of the most powerful, solemn, moving times in my life, framed by serious strangers who vowed to remember.

Gunshots.  Rituals.  A flag unfurled and furled again.  And then, that same flag presented to my mother, delivered with deep-felt thanks for a man who served his country all those years ago.

And to think I almost went to work today.

I am an idiot.  And my stepfather is dead.  And my step siblings move slowly across the uneven landscape,  away from me, from this place and into another.

My mom?  She is small, but her heart is full.

I finger the empty cartridge in my pocket, remembering the sharpness of its cry as it left the rifle 10 minutes before.  And I remember Dick, again wondering why I have never before been to a funeral with an honor guard.

I suspect the answer says more about me than it does about everyone else.