It was Palm Sunday. I was liturgist at church. I had not wanted to miss that obligation and opportunity at worship. After that, I left immediately for Brenda's house. We all decided that it would be best if she does the driving. She has a new car, and would be less nervous in unfamiliar driving areas than I would be. We were all meeting at Brenda's house to go together on this road trip to Virginia to view the body of their father, about whom they remembered little, and knew even less.
So I am driving to Brenda's house, down a very familiar highway driven hundreds of times. I suddenly realize that ahead of me on the road is an Army convoy. I am slowed down by their presence in front of me. I see some irony in the Army presence, as I am on my way to see an Army veteran. I haven't seen an Army convoy in 25+ years on this road. There are no military installations anywhere around.
It strikes me that this is symbolically some kind of a military escort. Strange. Very strange! It must mean something, since it is happening in this context. I take it as some kind of a blessing, a salute perhaps to the veteran who has died.
We all assemble at Brenda's, pack the car and hit the road. Naturally, a big topic of conversation centers around what to do next. We have been told by Cathy that a military burial at Arlington Cemetery is a possibility. I think one of us had looked that up on line and learned that an Arlington Burial requires a copy of a certain military form, testifying to an honorable discharge. At that point, we had no idea exactly how or where to get that form.
We also discussed the option of having a Memorial Service in the cemetery where his parents are buried, in the town where he grew up, Newark Valley, New York. If we do that, there will at least be some family members there. Robert, his brother, would want to come, and his children, perhaps. We go back and forth on those two options for quite a while. In the end, making another trip back to D.C. for a military burial seems challenging, since we are on the way to spend several days there trying to figure out what to do, and personal time for the three who work. Besides, it is not as if he died in action. He had been retired for 38 years. We begin to lean toward the Newark Valley option. I have planned ahead and have the address and phone number of the Newark Valley funeral home, in case we need it.
What an unusual trip! Having a mother and three grown daughters all going on a trip together seemed a once-in-a lifetime event to me. On the journey there, we had lots of laughter and good times together.
We discussed the things we had learned from Courtney at the Rehab Center. He was there because he was struggling with COPD, and was weak and not able to walk , apparently. We also knew that they had his wallet and bonds. His wallet had a considerable amount of cash in it, and the three bonds were worth a considerable amount of money. We began to wonder what we might find in the car. The car was one of the big unknowns.
For one thing, it had been sitting there for a long time, and probably would not start. (And so we took jumper cables with us).
It might have 200,000 miles on it, and not safe to drive back to New York. We might have to make arrangements to junk it.
There might be other belongings of his in the car.
All in all, we did not really know what to expect anywhere along the line. Not at the viewing, not at the Rehab Center, not at Ft. Belvoir.
But at some deep emotional level, it felt like taking care of him in his death, somehow made up for the fact that he did not take care of us in his life. There was some strange kind of reverse redemption in that.
Although he had disappeared, and clearly had not wanted to be found, it seemed the right thing that we would appear and do what needed to be done.
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