2001-08-01 - 5:51 p.m.
I am feeling... 
"A fallen comrade."
Greetings and salutations.....
First of all, everybody go link on my Guestbook thing and leave me some love. You know you all want to.
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I must make a broad statement about my day thus far.
Today was, without a doubt, the WORST day of my life.
My father's military friend (who shall be henceforth referred to as "The Colonel") died Saturday night, and his funeral was today. Full military honors.
The funeral was the HARDEST thing I have ever had to sit through.
(Oh, shit. I am starting to cry just thinking about it...)
I have to hand it to The Colonel's family, though. His wife, four daughters, and son were all teary but optimistic. I was amazed at how well they were handling it. But The Colonel has been sick for awhile... he was my daddy's commander in Vietnam, and he got cancer from that Agent Orange shit.
Anyways. Here's what happened, for all those who have never been to a funeral with full military honors...
My family and I got to the church, and were immediately surrounded by about fifty men in dark green Special Forces uniforms and green berets. There were so many overseas campaign ribbons and medals floating around that it was hard to find someone with less than 25 decorations on their uniforms. (My father, however, was in a regular suit with a few SF pins on the lapels. I still don't know why he went civilian, when he is still in the ranks.) All around, we could hear the men greeting each other with "De oppresso liber."
(For most of you who do not know, "De oppresso liber" is Latin for "liberate the oppressed". It is on the Special Forces crest, and is their motto.)
The mass itself was ok, only a few tears on my behalf there. Most of it was in Latin, which was The Colonel's favorite kind of mass. We saw The Colonel's wife after mass, and she asked us if we were ready for a huge production.
"I asked for the whole nine yards for him," she said. "They flew an honor guard in from Fort Bragg and a bugler from Fort Benning last night."
Shit. Now, if you're getting SF honor guards and buglers flown in from out-of-state bases and have more brass at your funeral than a candlestick factory... you know you were a damn important person.
So we join the huge procession and wind our way through Detroit over to the cemetary. They've already got the honor guard and bugler set up by the gravesite, so we traipse across the lawn towards the sea of green uniforms. This is when I noticed something that made me start to cry (before the service started, no less).
My daddy was wearing his green beret.
Apparently, he had it in the car the whole time, and elected to only wear it for the service. What's so special about the beret? Well, I've never seen him wear it before. In fact, I've only seen it once. It kind of scared me, in a way...
The service started with a SF guy on the bagpipes playing the national anthem while all the servicemen there stood at attention. My daddy was among these men. This made me cry harder. Why? Because I have never seen my daddy stand at attention and salute anyone before.
At ease, men. A few passages of Scripture were quoted, a few prayers were said, and then a brigadier general there recited all of The Colonel's assignments and decorations.
And then... by far the worst part. Roll call.
Obviously, when called, you say present. Keep this in mind.
The brigadier general called the names and ranks of the pallbearers (all SF men), the honor guard, the bugler... and The Colonel.
He called his rank and last name.
Silence.
Rank, and first and last name.
Silence.
Rank, and full name.
Silence.
Then the honor guard presented arms and fired, and the bugler played Taps.
My heart has never hurt so badly before.
It really hit home to me then that this was a military funeral... the same kind my daddy will be getting one day.
I fucking lost it. I started bawling like a baby... as in, full-out sobbing.
It was awful.
All I could think of was that my daddy will have a longer military career than The Colonel, and he will have all this and more. He wants the bagpipes, the honor guard, the bugler, and cannons.
And he'll get them.
And all I'll have to say then will be that there's only been one reason that I want to serve in the military so bad, and that's my daddy.
He'll get all that and more.
"To be born free is an accident. To live free is a challenge. To die free is an obligation."
This is written on the plaque in my daddy's den, celebrating the success of his SF tours of duty in Vietnam, Thailand, and Cambodia.
"De oppresso liber", indeed.
~*~Piper~*~