“Our fallen comrade” - That’s what the men
from the Veterans of Foreign Wars had called my father. Those words rang in my
head for days. Fallen: He was now gone from our lives, no longer joking with us
or fighting battle after battle, whether it be in Vietnam or with lung cancer.
Comrade: He was very much a part of a lot of people, not just the VFW. They
knew him as a soldier, we knew him as our father; my mother - her husband. Her
companion. Her comrade in matrimony.
I felt numb during the Mass; it had been years since my siblings and I had attended and now it was at our dad’s funeral. We sat there, uncomfortable, not sure what to do but just follow the motions and the chants as we would when we were children. We were numb until those words were spoken.
The Veterans went outside. We heard authoritative shouts and then
*BOOM*
the first shot of the 3-volley salute sounded and my heart jumped. Seven men shooting off rifles were honoring my father.
My nostrils burned from the lingering smell of incense. I sniffed. My pulse was quickening, anticipating the other loud assaults on my eardrums. Seven rifles going off at once echoed through the giant Catholic Church.
*BOOM*
I felt tears starting to sting my eyes. I glanced over and saw my brothers hugging their wives, my sister, the oldest, was already distraught from giving the eulogy. My brother served in the Navy along with his wife. They were both tearing up and I knew at that moment that we all understood what this meant - for us, as well as my father. The intensity of the past week was pulled out of us by the shots being fired. Everything had happened so quickly that, only now, were we forced to feel the affects.
*BOOM*
And it was over. The 3-volley salute, the Mass, and my father’s funeral. His urn looked at us from the front, surrounded by the red, white, and blue flowers, with the rainbow floral arrangement that my sister and I fell in love with hugging him.
But there was something else; something rather significant that the ceremony needed that we knew was coming.
The men marched back inside the church and walked up to the front, turning to my mother, and explained that “This flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation and the United States Army as a token of appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service.” He handed her a folded flag, as well as a small red bag. He leaned close to her and told her that inside the bag she’ll find the shell casings from the 3-volley salute. I could see the wheels in my Mom’s head spinning. She wasn’t listening. She was probably trying to figure out where she could safely keep and show off the folded token of appreciation in her home.
These men, taking time out of their day to honor my father, someone they didn’t know but had a connection to through a brotherhood of sorts - the United States Army - reminded me that having strong bonds with people in your life is important. So very, very important. My dad had that bond with people, sometimes strangers. He’d joke and laugh with anyone. The times when I miss him the most is when I hear a joke that I think he’d find funny. His sense of humor was always his strong point.
I have changed drastically with my “Mentality on Friendship” since his death. My heart is wide open. If you want to be a part of my life, wonderful. Friendship is a beautiful thing. Life really is too short to take anything for granted. When I see someone mourning a loss, my main thought is that I hope they had the chance to tell that person how much they meant to them. My father and I became a lot closer in his last few years. I sometimes doubt my direction in life but I secretly know that, at the end of the day, Dad was proud of me.
If you are reading this, know that I love and respect you. You are obviously a part of my life somehow and, even if we’ve never met, you are reading a piece of me and I appreciate it. More than you know.
Life is beautiful, comrades.
I felt numb during the Mass; it had been years since my siblings and I had attended and now it was at our dad’s funeral. We sat there, uncomfortable, not sure what to do but just follow the motions and the chants as we would when we were children. We were numb until those words were spoken.
The Veterans went outside. We heard authoritative shouts and then
*BOOM*
the first shot of the 3-volley salute sounded and my heart jumped. Seven men shooting off rifles were honoring my father.
My nostrils burned from the lingering smell of incense. I sniffed. My pulse was quickening, anticipating the other loud assaults on my eardrums. Seven rifles going off at once echoed through the giant Catholic Church.
*BOOM*
I felt tears starting to sting my eyes. I glanced over and saw my brothers hugging their wives, my sister, the oldest, was already distraught from giving the eulogy. My brother served in the Navy along with his wife. They were both tearing up and I knew at that moment that we all understood what this meant - for us, as well as my father. The intensity of the past week was pulled out of us by the shots being fired. Everything had happened so quickly that, only now, were we forced to feel the affects.
*BOOM*
And it was over. The 3-volley salute, the Mass, and my father’s funeral. His urn looked at us from the front, surrounded by the red, white, and blue flowers, with the rainbow floral arrangement that my sister and I fell in love with hugging him.
But there was something else; something rather significant that the ceremony needed that we knew was coming.
The men marched back inside the church and walked up to the front, turning to my mother, and explained that “This flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation and the United States Army as a token of appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service.” He handed her a folded flag, as well as a small red bag. He leaned close to her and told her that inside the bag she’ll find the shell casings from the 3-volley salute. I could see the wheels in my Mom’s head spinning. She wasn’t listening. She was probably trying to figure out where she could safely keep and show off the folded token of appreciation in her home.
These men, taking time out of their day to honor my father, someone they didn’t know but had a connection to through a brotherhood of sorts - the United States Army - reminded me that having strong bonds with people in your life is important. So very, very important. My dad had that bond with people, sometimes strangers. He’d joke and laugh with anyone. The times when I miss him the most is when I hear a joke that I think he’d find funny. His sense of humor was always his strong point.
I have changed drastically with my “Mentality on Friendship” since his death. My heart is wide open. If you want to be a part of my life, wonderful. Friendship is a beautiful thing. Life really is too short to take anything for granted. When I see someone mourning a loss, my main thought is that I hope they had the chance to tell that person how much they meant to them. My father and I became a lot closer in his last few years. I sometimes doubt my direction in life but I secretly know that, at the end of the day, Dad was proud of me.
If you are reading this, know that I love and respect you. You are obviously a part of my life somehow and, even if we’ve never met, you are reading a piece of me and I appreciate it. More than you know.
Life is beautiful, comrades.
