A Man We Lost

My account on a local military funeral.

The traffic to get downtown was horrendous. It seemed to take twice as long as normal. We were redirected somewhere maybe two miles from where we wanted to be, but we understood fully well why.

 

Once we got downtown, we ran into another problem; parking. It was a nightmare trying to find a spot, but we suceeded, mostly in thanks to mom's handicapped placard. This wasn't a normal visit to the waterfront though. The air was filled with grief, and it was quiet. Even the birds made very few noises, and that's not common.

 

I grabbed our flag from the backseat, taking extra care to make sure it didn't touch the ground. We walked up the hill to the town hall and the church in silence. From the bottom of the hill we could see the firetruck, but only the back of it. In the parking lot of the town hall there were 20 or so bikes, all next to eachother. Those were the Freedom Riders. Out in front of the townhall, there were a lot of people. All were solemn looking, and all were looking quietly across the street, at the church.

The road was lined with people of all sorts holding American flags. Big flags, small flags, you name it. The firetruck was hanging the biggest flag. It wasn't waving like the rest though. The town hall's flags were all at half mast. I let my flag rest against my shoulder, letting flap lightly in the breeze that just started. The police were there, all from different towns. The Plymouth county fire department all stood in a line, right in front of the church.

One thing that chilled me, was the table at the foot of the steps of one of the stairs. On the table was a gun inbetween a pair of boots, a helmet and dog tags hanging off the gun. Next to these items, was the picture of a young man. The young man that died in Afghanistan a month before, along with two others.

 

The family were all on the steps, staring out at all of us. We were all there to support them, to let them know that the town was all there for them. You could tell by the look on their faces that they were pain, and we were all feeling it too. Boston's pipes and drums started to play as 6 Marines lifted the flag of the casket, and they took it away. The casket was rolled in, and the family followed. We all stood there, hands over our hearts, watching all of his family and friends follow him in.

 

When the doors shut, most of the people went their seperate ways, while the ceremony went on. My parents and I stayed there, across the street from the church. We didn't realise we were next to the media area until we started talking to a Journalist. It was normal conversation, about the war, about politics, and everything. Eventually we were interviewed by a news station, which ended up on the news later that day, much to my dislike.

 

The whole time we were here, the wind kept picking up every now and then, in strong gusts, such is New England weather. I couldn't help but to think of my own fiance, thinking of how he was doing. Every now and then I could feel myself tearing up, but I kept it all back. My parents noticed and held my hand that I had on my mom's shoulder.

 

Most of the flags went to line the streets to the highway, lining the route the hearse and the family would take to Bourne. It's quite a distance, but it's worth it.

 

 

It was an hour and a half before the doors opened again. Time flew. When the doors opened, the 6 Marines from before laid the flag back onto the casket, and carried it down the stairs. During this, the pipes and drums played a song I could not recognise. I knew it wasn't Amazing Grace, and I was thankful. This song was heart wrenching as was, and the Journalist had mentioned that Amazing Grace was that much more devastating on bag pipes. I think we were all thankful it wasn't being played at that moment.

 

The Marines kept their formation perfectly, even loading the casket into the hearse. I saw their faces, and it made me want to cry for them. One of them, despite keeping her composure, I could still see the pain on her stone straight face. It ripped my heart out of my chest. They walked away in complete formation, and dissapeared from my view into the crowd. The family all came out of the church behind them, and all went to their cars. I heard my father mention seeing two Senators, and the Governer. I was glad they showed up for this, to show their own support.

 

As the family all got into their cars, there was one gust of wind that nearly knocked the flag out of my hands. Something hit me in that moment, and I thought of it as I watched the cars drive away, and as I had the pipes still playing in my ears. The wind... it was his way of telling us to stay strong. It was him, the Marine that lay in that casket, saying his thanks, by making our flags wave with strength.

 

Even the next day, as I write this, it is all still clear in my head, the whole thing. The town showing their support in such a way, we came together as a community to help a family in need.

 

We all lost a good man, a good soldier. I will always be thankful for the sacrifice that he, and all of our other brothers and sisters in uniform, give for us.

 

R.I.P. Steven Gutowski.