Un memorial: mayo, mis amigos y mis hermanos

 It had been a hot spring day in Spokane, Washington on Saturday, May 5. Standing with 200 others, we silently watched as a Husband, Father, Grandfather, Teacher, Friend and fellow Marine was about to be laid to rest. Amongst the 200 onlookers were 12 United States Marine Corps Scout-Snipers who'd traveled from Virginia, Oregon, Washington, Texas, California and Montana to cover their respects to a fallen Brother, Sergeant Gary R. Reiter, 4th Marines, two tours in Vietnam.

Seven Marines from the local Marine Corps League were called to attention, then position and commanded, "Fire," and the reverent silence of the afternoon air shattered like cheap glass by the report of seven rifles fired in unison. The tradition of the 21 gun salute is a vintage, old military custom dating back to the 1200's when it had been used to signal from one ship to another that it meant no ill will.

The command might be heard, "Fire" yet again and the silence was pierced by the rifle's discharge. The tradition became more standardized with time and evolved to the present day practice of 21 guns.

For the third time, "Fire" and the seven guns had echoed their final report. Current regulations give a 21 gun salute we'd just witnessed for a President and other Head of State, 19 guns for a Vice President and down from there. The tradition of providing a 21 gun salute to a fallen service member is said to accord the exact same respect since the nation and President he served.

It wasn't my first military funeral and won't be my last. After 2 yrs in Vietnam, my beloved Marine Corps assigned me to a Reserve Center in an area of about 150,000 where we'd a 100-mile radius to deal with services for our Brothers killed in Vietnam. I commanded the firing squad for the salute. It had been a different view compared to the one I'd had in combat. Four months and 19 funerals later I was pretty numb to the pomp and circumstance surrounding the whole affair. For many years I would not attend any funerals.

I knew all too well that the playing of Taps came next. Years back, standing off in the exact distance with my Firing Squad, I knew if people caused it to be through the Salute, they would not make it through Taps without bawling their eyes out. The playing of Taps dated back to the Civil War when Union General Daniel Butterfield sought a far more melodious tune to signal time for bed. His troops were weary after sevens days of battles near Richmond.

General Butterfield himself reworked the melody together with his burglar, Private Oliver Wilcox Norton and the brand new 24 note tune quickly spread through the Army including the Confederates. It wasn't long from then on Taps played at the funeral of a fallen Union cannoneer. His Commanding Officer, Captain John Tidball, decided the playing of Taps could be safer on the battlefield compared to the customary firing of three rifle volleys within the grave.

The origin of the name Taps includes some confusion. Ahead of the bugle call for lights out drummers played three drum beats or taps, which is assumed by many to be the origin. But on today, May 5, 2018, there clearly was no confusion since the Marine Bugler broke the silence with 24 perfect notes for Gary. If there have been dry eyes in the crowd, these were few with this day.

There clearly was silence as attention shifted to his Widow, his Son, and his Mother. Standing before them both Marines assigned began the difficult task of folding the flag for presentation to Gary's widow, Susan, who stood by him through thick and thin in their 47 plus years bound together in a forever marriage. Gary was no perfect man, but, neither are you currently and I.

Two perfectly dressed young Marines willing to fold the flag, a custom began throughout the Napoleonic Wars. Once the flag is placed over a closed casket, it is laid so your union, or blue shield, are at the head and within the left shoulder of the deceased, reported to be embracing the deceased who in life served the flag. Once the flag is removed it is held waist high within the grave where the folding takes place.

The family and good friends sitting near by, overwhelmed within their grief, in many cases are unaware that every one of the 13 folds carries a particular meaning. On today 200 people stood silently since the Marines began the painstaking procedure that culminates with the presentation of the flag to the next of kin.

The flag is folded right into a triangle and has 13 folds, signifying the initial 13 colonies. The first fold of the flag is just a symbol of life. The second fold means our belief in eternal life. The third fold is manufactured in honor and tribute of the Veteran departing our ranks who gave a percentage of the lives defending our freedom and seeking peace.

Because the audience stands quietly by watching the seemingly slow process of the Marines, they don't know the fourth fold exemplifies our weaker nature as citizens trusting in God; it is to Him we turn for Divine guidance. The fifth fold is an acknowledgment to the country, for in the words of Stephen Decatur, "Our country, in dealing with other countries, may she continually be right, but it is still our country, right or wrong."
Some start to fidget now, but the Marines are unmoved within their meticulous task of honoring among their own.

The sixth fold is for where our hearts lie. It is by using our heart that people pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. The seventh fold is just a tribute to the armed forces, for it is through the armed forces that people protect our country and our flag against all enemies.

The family and family members sitting close, some are impatient, wanting it over while others want this moment to keep forever. The eighth fold is just a tribute to the one who entered to the valley of the shadow of death, that people might start to see the light of day, and to honor our mother, for whom it flies on Mother's Day. On today, the ninth fold is for Gary's widow, Susan. The ninth fold is an honor to womanhood, for it has experienced their faith, love, loyalty, and devotion that the character of the men and women who have made this country great have been molded. She epitomizes every word of this fold.

The 10th fold is just a tribute to father, for he, too, has given his sons and daughters for the defense of our country since he or she was first-born. To numerous today, the final folds would raise cries of woe since they state our Judeo-Christian heritage. The 11th fold, in the eyes of Hebrew citizens, represents the low part of the seal of King David and King Solomon and glorifies, to them, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The 12th fold, in the eyes of a Christian citizen, represents an emblem of eternity and glorifies, to them, God the Father, the Son, and Holy Ghostfuneraria murcia.

As both Marines face one another making the thirteenth and final fold, I'm grateful for its meaning. The last fold, once the flag is complete, the stars are uppermost, reminding us of our national motto, "In God We Trust." Finished, the Marines execute their movements and before the following of kin, kneel and say, ""For the President of the United States, the United States Marine Corps, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service."

The final outcome of the service is the beginning of a new chapter in the lives of these left standing. During those minutes my mind always fractures and exposes my friend Perl, blown to bits by an enemy mortar, whose 42-year-old Mother died 2 yrs after his death from what her Doctor described as a'broken heart.' Through the crack within my vault, I see 35 dead Marines we zipped in body bags for the ride home and a ceremony like the one we just concluded. I hear the voice of my first sniper partner, Hutch, who died a month ago, telling me with a cracking voice of the insanity that was the Seige of Khe Sahn. As I lookup I get a glimpse of Gary's son, Zack, a good young man with a wife and daughter and happiness slips in between the carnage within my head.

We're getting together for friends picture of the 12 people who originated from near and far to honor our fallen Brother. Even as we do, within my mind's eye I see my first sniper partner, Hutch, smiling in the midst of our first firefight. I'm holding Moto's hand 2 yrs ago, as he lost consciousness from the brain tumor that took him in under two months. We're trying to get organized, but my mental multi-tasking isn't helping much.

On a cloudy afternoon in Spokane, I stand arm in arm with my Brothers in arms. Some I fought with over 50 years back; some I just met yesterday who I fight vicariously with today. Young men who left their families flew and drove several states away to honor among their own. Arm in arm I look out at smiling ladies taking photos people and see my good friend Greek. I spoke at his funeral nearly two decades ago, in addition to his Mom and his Dad's before that. Gary and I held his hand when he arrived of surgery, after losing his leg to a mine.

The kaleidoscope within my head flashes like camera bulbs back the day. Surrounded by Marines young and old I'm like I'm sitting in a pot of Jiffy Pop. The photo session ends, and like all of the funerals I attended as part of a Marine burial detail, life returns to normalcy for many and a new, yet undefined normal begins for those close to the cherished one they lost. Time doesn't heal all wounds it merely creates a scar to be lived with forever. 

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