The Burial Of TB The Elder

 The Saturday of the funeral was cold and overcast - a cold front had blown in ("cold front" being a relative term for my more northerly readers of course), and the wind blew in steadily from the southwest as it always does at this time of year, driving the moisture that will bring the Winter rains.

The graveyard itself is the old original graveyard of my hometown, with graves going back well into the 19th Century and their markers of granite, some old ones stand tall and straight, others askew or akimbo as the ground has shifted.  My mother and father purchased this site years and years ago; in retrospect I have no idea why, other than it was something that my mother's father had recommended to my father (and for anything financial, my father always took his advice).  I had never been to it before today - had never known where it was until the morning of the funeral.  It was there, in the back corner of the downhill slope, surrounded by others who in no way seemed related to my parents in any way.

It was a small service:  our family, my sister's family, and the pastor of their last church.  After the customary greetings and initial small talk, we milled around as we waited for the start of the time.  My father sat there, a small mahogany box upright on the table with the American Flag ready for folding; behind the table was a small hole in the sod with a container for the box.

The Navy Honor guard arrived and The Outdoorsman took the flag out to them as we waited - it is not as if there is any sort of instruction manual on this.  They conferred at the top for a few moments, then came down to the grave:  two men in dress blues, one older and one younger, the older (my guess is a petty officer from the stripes on this uniform) carrying the flag and the other one - younger, with a corpsmans' insignia - an instrument case.

The senior naval man was kind, saying that although he did not know TB the Elder personally, he did know him through his naval service and both knew and honored him through that knowledge.  With that, the service effectively commenced

The corpsman moved away to the side, opened his case, and pulled out his bugle.  After adjusting the mute inside the bell, he played Taps.  It was as haunting a rendition and moment as I can remember: the wind blow and rustling the trees, the sailor at attention, all of us with our hands over our hearts, the song soaring aloft.

After replacing the bugle, the corpsman approached the table and took the flag.  Given the end to the petty officer, they slowly walked it back and unfolded it, then unfolded it again, then with a snap expanded it to its full size.  It was held there for a moment until, they began to fold it back up, first over and then over again, then in the triangles I remember from Cub Scouts and Flag Day.  As a practitioner of paired martial arts, it was interesting to watch the subtle signs of co-ordination between the older and younger man, eyes flickering back and forth and a slight nod, unnoticed except for those who would know.

After folding, the petty officer brought the flag to my sister and said the standard phrase "On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Navy, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faith service". With that, they saluted one more time and marched off slowly.”

The graveside service was likely the standard one most of my readers will be familiar with: an opening prayer, a reminder that this life is not all there and that we are dust and to dust we will return, the Lord's Prayer, and a benediction.  With that, the service ended and the pastor left us for the service in the afternoon.

All that remained was for my father to be interred.

We looked at each other - The Outdoorsman and I were the most likely candidates, and after a brief exchange of glances, I took the job for myself.  Removing the astro-turf covered board that was on the hole, I knelt down and put the box in the container - somewhat amusingly, there was not really any clear way to do this:  Stand it upright?  Lay it down?  Would my mother eventually go in here?  Finally after some consultation, we laid him down and then placed the cover over the the box.

There was a finality to placing that cover on the box, a finality that was not felt by myself later in the day at the memorial service. That would be a time of remembering. This was a time tying up the last truly loose end with my father over the last 2 year journey we had experienced together.

The wind blew on as we went back to cars to find breakfast although, perhaps out of a grace undeserved, the sun did come out to light our way.