As the dust settles from my move, all my pictures are miraculously clean and hung. The closet has been sorted multiple times. My drawers are all in order. The lawn is manicured within a millimeter of perfect. Not a weed dares to grow in my yard. Halloween decorations are glowing at night. Even my floors are mopped. Do you get the picture? I am bored out of my mind, and hoping I will not become BORING!!!!
Needing new and worthy ways to spend my retired widow days, I have been looking for an organization that would be interesting but also give back to my community and, on a larger scale, humanity. In that endeavor, a friend mentioned that I should check out the Nevada Veterans Coalition, based here in my town. This group is responsible for the huge task of delivering Wreaths Across America to the fallen heroes in our very own National Cemetery here in Northern Nevada.
I had visited the cemetery on several occasions, both to look around and to visit a dear friend who left us almost two months ago. The first thing I noticed was that it had the potential to be the grandest of them all. But, I also noticed that it needs some major volunteer work on the grounds. Dead rose heads dropped on majestic plants that should have been fertilized and groomed in winter. The grounds needed a few volunteers around to answer questions. All in all, things looked good, but could be better. That fact didn’t go unnoticed on my prior visits.
One sad day earlier in the week, I made the call to the Nevada Veterans Coalition and left a message. That evening, RR, a very nice man with a floral last name, called me. He spoke about the group’s mission, which was divided into two parts. Indeed, the Wreaths Across America was on one side. But the other side was the Honor Guard. This is a group of men and women who provide interment services at the Northern Nevada Veterans Memorial Cemetery (NNVMC). After explaining the details, he asked if I would like to attend the service for one of their founding members the next day at 11:00 am. I accepted the invitation.
Yesterday was an exceptionally beautiful autumn day. The cottonwood trees at the cemetery were changing colors. The lawn was deep green and lush. All the roses seemed to have bloomed in unison for the fallen hero, Charles. The grounds are expansive, providing a quiet, respectful atmosphere, and will serve as the final resting place for 10,000 American heroes. The temperature was a perfect 70 degrees, with warm sunshine blanketing everyone.
The members of the honor guard were assembling in preparation. They had all made a special effort for this service. Charles was their dear friend for decades. Their matching black uniforms were adorned with medals from their years of military service. Their shoes were shined to blinding brilliance. Their white gloves were clean. They talked among themselves in the nervous way people do before something as solemn as a funeral is about to occur. I found RR. He was happy I had come and asked if we could talk after. I agreed and then found a seat and began to observe the details of the moment.
It was obvious Charles was an adored and respected old goat (their words, not mine). His friends lovingly gave that impression. With 50 people waiting for the service to begin, it was obvious he was a special guy. Born in Minneapolis in 1937. Served in the United States Air Force. Fought in the Korean War and other places. Came home. Raised beautiful kids, who were raising beautiful kids. This man had earned respect throughout his life and in his later years, he demanded it. It was lovingly given by family and friends.
Two officers, white-gloved with their heads covered, walked to the pavilion solemnly and with purpose. One carried the American flag, folded as you so often see, triangle-shaped. The other carried a small black box. The cremains of Charles. At the front of the pavilion, there was a podium on which sat a black container marked with the symbol of the US Air Force. Gently, the black box was put inside and covered with the lid. The flag was lovingly placed in front of the box.
His widow was wheeled to her place of honor under the three-sided pavilion in which she would publicly say her final Goodbye. I thought of her as I watched silently from the back. A widow like me, but different. Charles had been sick for years. Gone for years, as some would say, during the service. Her goodbyes had been tedious and slow, I am assuming, through the gauntlet of cruelty dementia produces for all that love the victim. She sat spent as the honor guard, and friends came to her to share their sorrow. Seats were filled, and soon it was time to begin.
I was not prepared. Drifting towards us was the sad wail of a trumpet playing the U. S. Air Force Song. My own boys, now grown men with boys of their own, had left home at 18 to join the USAF, serving after 9-11 changed our country forever. I had cried buckets when they played the song at their graduations from boot camp in San Antonio. Now, I smiled, thinking of my own Air Force heroes. As the song played, the colors were presented and placed as everyone stood. Every Veteran saluted. I placed my hand over my heart. So many people forget to do that these days.
We all sat, and the ceremony began. The woman in charge did a beautiful job saying Goodbye to Charles. Another man talked about him. Prayers were given. Beautiful prayers. A gorgeous poem read by a man covered in medals. He made it to the end, and then broke down sobbing. A tribute to the man Charles was and to the memories of friendship and loyalty he left behind.
From the back of the pavilion, an Honor Guard member sang Amazing Grace a capella. The same song my beautiful grandson sang for VST in July at his memorial.
The report from a volley of gunshots ricocheted off the back of the pavilion, sounding harsh and brittle. A 21-gun salute, all in silence except for the tinkling sound of shells hitting cement after each of the three rounds.
Two HG Members came forward to retrieve the flag. They lovingly unfolded it completely while keeping it taut, and then showed it to the widow. Two more HG Members then joined on either side of the flag to refold it perfectly for her while the meaning of each fold was explained to the group. There are 13 folds in the flag. Even the tuck at the end means something very special. Three spent shell casings were secreted inside for the widow. The flag was presented to her with the utmost care. Each HG friend knelt and told her how sorry they were for her loss.
It was explained that Charles loved doughnuts. When they served them at meetings, he took two. Always. It was explained that as we walked up the hill to his final resting place, the HG members were each carrying a box of doughnuts in his memory. When the final prayers were said, and the crypt was sealed in front of God and all of us, we would all have a doughnut in honor of Charles. And that is exactly how the service ended.
I didn’t speak to Charles’s widow, as I didn’t know her, and she didn’t know me. How could I explain that I came to witness the best presentation of a military service because it had been for one of their own? We exchanged glances, and somehow, I think she already knew we had something in common. Sadness is easily seen through the eyes. I tried to keep my dark glasses on, not wanting to distract from this beautiful moment in any way.
Throughout this service, I felt a peace flow over me. This is the group I would like to spend time with. These men and women would become my friends. I would be happy to help make final services a moment of respect for REAL American heroes and their families.
After the service, RR had asked me to stay and talk for a minute. I met some of the members, and they explained to me that I could be trained to help with any part of the service I chose, even shooting. That I didn’t need to have served in the military to be a member of the Honor Guard. My help would be welcomed in any way, whether with the Wreaths Across America project or the Honor Guard. I was welcomed to join them.
The meeting will be on November 12. I’m sure I will share more about my time helping this group. By experiencing something so moving and meaningful, another part of me is awakening. I want to find my place to give back, even if just a little bit.
Please check out Wreaths Across America, a non-profit organization. They need our support to make sure every fallen American hero is honored with a wreath in 2020.