That was the story I was assigned on Sunday afternoon. I'll be honest, I whined to my assignment manager when he first was going to send me. I know I cry at Taps... He was going to make me cry on my birthday. I was told I could just not work on my birthday like most people, but that didn't seem an option for me, so I took on the story.
A little history on the Lance Corporal. He was 20-years-old. He also has a twin brother named Osmany, also a Marine, and a 22-year-old brother who is also in the Corps. He and his twin joined first. They wanted to protect their country, cut and dry. He was infantry and sent to Afghanistan and just got his promotion to Lance Corporal a few weeks ago.
My first stop in North Arlington was the funeral home and church, which happened to be across the street from each other.
There were a number of police officers and firefighters out there, wanting to pay their respects and also a lot of people from town.
In this picture you see the line of police officers... but those folks on the curb across the street, most of them are people from town. There was also a crowd of them behind me. It was heartening to see. That said, one woman I talked to was angry there were not more people out. It was a holiday. She said she had hoped to see the entire town show up to pay their respects.
My first tears fell when the coffin was carried from the funeral home to the hearse... The finality that coffin signifies....
I think this is a time to mention a little about me. I don't think I am a typical reporter. Some of the other reporters and camera crews were off to the side, chatting about sports and the like 'between shots'. I can do that on some stories, like when we're waiting for the Governor to speak or something else mundane. But this was about the Lance Corporal and I almost kicked a trio of media folk for rudely chatting about sports while the rest of the street was silent just a few moments before the procession began. I feel stories... and I hope, in some respects, that makes me better at my job. You can let me know when you hear the stories later....
The service in the church was a private event, so I repositioned myself down the road, near the entrance of the cemetery. More and more people from town were coming out to line up along the road. By the time the hour-long service was over, there was nearly a half mile line of people from the church to the cemetery entrance, who wanted to send-off their fallen hero. The fire trucks worked to hoist a massive American flag and we all stood, quietly and waited for the procession to arrive. Seriously, hundreds of people lined the streets near me, but they didn't do much more than whisper. You could hear the flapping of the flags in the wind, the police radios, sniffling, but not much else....
The funeral procession made it's way into the cemetery. I followed, but at a distance. I stood off to the side with the police officers who were keeping watch.
It was a very traditional service, ending with the 21-gun salute and the playing of Taps. Then the flag presented to his mother. I had not heard a lot of crying (audibly at least) until this point... but that flag being handed over, that was the breaking point.
I truly think my heart was put in a vice when I heard the wails come from the family as the flag was handed over. Pain. A heart being ripped out and shattered pain was what I heard. I started crying again. Heck, I am tearing up right now typing about it, because that sound doesn't leave one's ears easily.
And then I thought, that Marine, the one who is tasked with giving the flag to the family, how the hell does he do his job? Does that man have to go home at the end of the day and drown himself in drink to try and erase the face of that mother? Do the mournful cries she let out ever leave his ears?
As I left the cemetery I saw more of the Marine detail. I wanted to run up and hug them. Many of them were close in age to the 20-year-old I just saw buried. I resisted the urge to hug them all and instead thanked them for their service.
So now I had to go to work... I had to do stories about the funeral... and, well, I tried to do his memory justice. I was told the first version was not just sad, but very sad. I will also admit, it took me three times to record the last half of it without my voice completely cracking and breaking.
So, I'm going to wrap this up now, with this - Yes it was a depressing way to spend a birthday, but also a hell of a reminder to love and appreciate all the things I have, the opportunities I have been given, and to not let any of them pass me by. Someone may well have died for them.
To all my friends in the service present and past, I desperately want to hug you all right now! But I will suffice for the moment saying thank you for your service!
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