It may sound familiar to you.
"I found something recently that I wrote down after a mission a quite some time ago. I guess I thought writing it down would help to get it out of my head. It didn't work. Thought I’d share it."
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The clock says 4:30AM when the alarm goes off. My first thought is that it would be great to stay in bed and sleep for a couple more hours but then I remember. I turn on the lights and swing my feet out of bed, it’s cold. So the ritual starts. A hot shower followed by forcing down a light breakfast. I look at the thermometer ... 37?! So I start layering the clothes mumbling about it being too cold for my reptilian blood. Still not awake I go into the garage and load up the bike. As I open the garage door the wave of cold enters and I back the bike out into the driveway. As always I grin slightly as I start the bike and wonder if the neighbors are as happy with my bike as I am.
The nose, toes and fingers are starting to complain at 70mph but I tell them to be quiet, this is important. We are staging at a shuttered business down the road from the funeral home so we can ride in as a group. As I get close I start to see bikes with American flags and Veteran plates. I see the familiar sight of the support vehicle and know I’m there. The sun is up now and it feels good as the black leather absorbs some warmth. We all say hello to each other and wave at riders as they arrive. It’s agreed that the flag person is a hero for bringing a huge pot of coffee. Spirits seem high but there is something else under the surface. There is little mention of what we will be doing shortly, not yet, it’s too early. We complement each other on our bikes, ask what we've been up to and tell each other how much the other branches of the service suck compared to ours. We hear the whistle so we all gather around. We hear the name of the 22 year old KIA who we are here to honor today, what he did in the service and that he leaves behind a wife and a two year old child. He asks if there are any new riders, a couple steps forward so we welcome them and silently wish them strength. Once we all know the plan we walk back to the bikes and wait for the signal that means it’s time to go.
As we slowly ride in formation I think back a few days to when we escorted this same soldier from the airport to the funeral home we were on our way to now. We usually try to park out of the way of the guests but that day we were waved to just park quickly and anywhere we could so I darted into the first empty space I saw. While removing my gear a car pulled into the space next to me, it was the family. The rear door opened and a woman got out and walked over to me and said "why?" Oh wow, it was the Mom. I fumbled something like “I wish I had the answer”. I suddenly remembered how bad it is to wear sunglasses at a time like that so I removed them. She looked at me and saw my eyes watering and that was it, we both completely lost it. So there we were, two complete strangers hugging and crying. Eventually we managed to get it together and I led her by the arm to her son's casket.
I snap out of it with a sense of déjà vu as we pull into the driveway of the funeral home. We stand proud while the family and guests arrive. I watch people park and walk to the door and wonder if they are friends or family. I wonder if that child is the one, the one now without a father, the one that will have to wait years before understanding what is happening right now. A man in a suit works his way down the flag line shaking every hand and thanks us for coming. I want to ask who he is, are you the father? But all I say is ‘the honor is mine’. After everyone is inside we take a break. Low conversations can be heard but they are void of the usual laughter and good nature ribbing Veterans like to give each other. We sit and enjoy the Arizona winter sun and wait for the service to end. After the hearse is loaded we mount our bikes and the quiet is replaced by thunder.
During the escort I see a car with the driver on a cell phone cut through the procession. I see a man get out of his car and put his hand over his heart. I see people visibly annoyed having to wait for us to pass. I see an old scruffy man at a bus stop saluting (Vet I think to myself). Once we arrive at the National Cemetery and make another flag line around the shelter I hear 21 gun salutes from other parts of the cemetery. I silently hope they are not as young as this one. As our 21 gun salute and Taps is played I hang on tight, watching the impact of this on family members is rough stuff for me. After the service ends we silently withdrawal to give the family and friends some time alone. As I am walking away I look back and see the Mom, for a second I think about going back but she doesn't see me, I decide to leave it be. As I am packing up to leave the rider next to me says “see you next time” and I nod in agreement. See you next time.
After leaving the cemetery bikers wave and peel off as the intersections and off ramps whittle the number down until I’m riding alone again. I'm not in a hurry and it has warmed up nicely so I take the long way home enjoying the desert. I know taps will be ringing in my head for days.
