Sometimes A Picture Is Worth Much More Than A Thousand Words

And yet, it can still leave you speechless

Just a bit ago, I wrote about the two funerals I attended over the weekend. At the second one, something happened before the ceremony and I felt the need to write about it. I didn't want to tuck it into that post, though, as I thought it deserved its own space.

After the casket was removed from the carriage, but before the Lt arrived, I was standing near the head of the casket trying my best to look as if I was some special military presence there to honor the deceased.

I was approached by a man. He took a moment to look my uniform over and paid special emphasis to checking out my unit patch. He remarked that I wasn't a member of the "Big Red One", which is the nickname for the 1st Infantry Division. The patch for the division is a green shield with a red "1" centered. It's a fairly famous Army division and has had several movies made about parts of its history (to include the movie "The Big Red One", obviously). I told the man that I was from DLI at the Presidio in Monterey.

He then told me that seeing me in my uniform brought back some sad memories for him. He pulled out his wallet and started thumbing through it. At first, I expected he'd pull out a picture of himself and maybe some of his friends, maybe all members of the 1st Infantry Division, and then tell me how many had passed away. I was not ready for what he did do, though.

He pulled out a picture of a smiling young man, dressed in his Class A uniform (just like the one I was wearing). It was a PFC and I could clearly see the "Big Red One" patch on his shoulder. I asked who it was. He answered "This was my grandson" - WAS his grandson.

He went on to explain that he'd been killed in Iraq in October. He was wounded the same day I passed 12 years of service and died from his wounds the next day. The pain, anger, and grief in his voice, as he explained how his 20 year old grandson was no longer alive, was like a kick in my stomach. My eyes burned hotter than they had ever burned at any other funeral I'd been to on this detail. I managed to tell him that I was deeply sorry for his loss, but I was truly left breathless.

He then went on to tell me that he had a tattoo of an American flag on one shoulder in a sign of support for all the troops and a tattoo of the "Big Red One" patch on his other shoulder in memory of his grandson. He thanked me for serving and for being there for the funeral of his friend.

I left that day, not knowing the name of that Soldier. I made a special effort to check the casualty list from that date and month and have discovered his name and rank (he'd been promoted since the picture was taken). I never knew him, but I will always remember his name.

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What a double wammie of emotion! I know I never felt that any of the funerals I was involved in were "routine", I knew that each one was the final respect given a veteran, and there was no room for "routine" in our attitudes or performance. From your articles, I see you never have either. But then to have this man honor you with sharing the memory of his grandson.... that would be too much for me too!!

Of all the things I loved about the military, the images and emotions are what I miss the most. Ironic isn't it, since most people think that soldiers live a life without images and emotions.

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Of all the things I loved about the military, the images and emotions are what I miss the most. Ironic isn't it, since most people think that soldiers live a life without images and emotions.

That's a perfect summary of how I feel sometimes.

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