Paying respects, realigning my heart

I had time to do a lot of thinking over the last 48 hours. Some of you who follow me on Twitter now got some teasers about my experience. So here's the rest of the story. Warning, I got a little windy.

My blog followers will know about a recent hero who was killed in action last week, PFC Dewater. He was a brave young man, 21 years old, fighting in Afghanistan for his country. He served in one of the roughest locations—the Korengal Valley Outpost, known by some as the KOP, and known commonly as "Death Valley." It's a sad name for such a beautiful but rugged location.

I had been sending boxes of CFH cards to this valley for quite a while. When I'd heard of the losses suffered, and started seeing more and more media coverage of the KOP, I wanted these young men (I don't believe any women serve in that area) to get some extra encouragement. I sent not only cards, but other things in my own care packages, including individual presents for each at Christmastime. I talked with some of these soldiers through Facebook, and in befriending parents and other supporters on AnySoldier.com's Forum, I felt even more connected to this particular band of brothers serving in Death Valley. Hearing the loss of yet another broke my heart—and hearing it was the son of one of the Dads I have been talking with, well that took it all to another level.

PFC Dewater—Rick—was to be buried in Oregon, and since I'm in Washington, I knew I need to go. To be there. To pay my respects to him, to his family. Even though I'd only met the Dad online, I still felt it was a friend who had lost a son. I made my pilgrimage starting at 2:30am, since I'd needed some sleep in order to even get behind the wheel for a long drive. My dog went with me, excited to get in the car at a sneaky hour in the middle of the night!

Hours of driving in darkness were an amazing time for reflection. I found myself whining about the dark. Complaining in my head about tiredness. Questioning myself about whether I really should be going to a private family burial anyway. Reflecting on friends' comments that I didn't belong there, that this wasn't a "real" friend, I'd never met him, so what was I doing going. Beating myself up. And then thinking about what the family was feeling right now. The pain they had. And then . . . I really was stopped short. The boys in Afghanistan. What were they doing right then?

The time difference, 11.5 hours, put them at midafternoon. I imagined a patrol climbing along rugged paths. Soldiers carrying packs that I probably couldn't pick up with my strength, much less march miles with it all, and holding small arms to be prepared for anything. I wondered if they'd had a good breafkast that day, anything more than a cardboard-tasting MRE. Had they been able to email their loved ones that morning, should anything regrettable happen today? When was the last slingload bearing supplies or mail? And . . . all that while knowing that their battle buddy Rick's burial was today. They surely had their own memorial service, but being in Oregon had to be on their minds at some level.

Talk about a perspective-check.

So in the hours of darkness, I prayed. Prayed up a storm. For the men serving in the KOP and everywhere. For Rick's family here at home. For the service. For more people to get involved in supporting our nation's brave heroes. It was a powerful time of intercession! I forgot my own grumpiness, hallelujah! I interrupted that periodically with phone calls, chatting with another woman driving to Oregon from SoCal for the service, keeping each other awake on occasion. Checked in with a few east coasters as the morning dawned there. (Sorry Mom for the early wake-up, I thought you were an early riser!) Did a little CFH business as cardmakers arose from beds to answer my calls.

Once past Portland, the trip had a huge injection of motivation: the Patriot Guard Riders!! I came upon a large band of these men and women on the highway and joined them for part of the journey. They are motorcycle-riders who attend military funerals, escorting and protecting the family from protestors. (Yes, I said protestors. Don't get me started.) These folks are an amazing sight on the highway! Decked out in their usual biker gear, with their tall flagpoles attached to their bikes, smaller flags flapping in the wind. Riding together in one lane, sometimes with a car or two following behind with flashers on. An amazing sight to behold! I didn't get any "waves" in response to mine—these folks were on a solemn mission. I stopped at a rest stop at one point and confirmed they had the same destination as I, and it was great to see these rugged faces, many of whom are veterans themselves.

I arrived in Roseburg about an hour before the service was to begin. A few of the Patriot Guard were at the entrance of the cemetary, and was questioned prior to being allowed in. I was so glad to see them doing that! Few people were there at the time, some military milling about, and a few others. I stood around, praying, looking out over the many gravestones there and thinking about how many families made the sad pilgrimage to this day in their own lives. And then...I heard it.

It began as a quiet rumble. The procession arrived, police cars with flashing lights, the hearse, cars of family members, and riders all around. What felt like MILES of bikes. It was such an amazing sight, and I bawled the whole time I shot the video! (See video at the end of this post.)

The service itself was moving; it was very small, listed as a private family burial on the handout they gave us all. I felt so awkward, like some sort of wedding crasher; I stood in the back with others who looked just as awkward. There was a small tent with what looked like just enough chairs for the family. The service was led by the Chaplain for the Oregon National Guard, who brought touching prayers and remarks. Rick's awards were presented by the army—Bronze Star and Purple Heart—and the state, given to his parents and his wife, and full military honors accompanied the service—including a 21 gun salute, and the slowest and most heartfelt playing of Taps that I have ever experienced. About an hour long, it was a beautiful service, as sad as it was.

Following the service I had a short opportunity to greet the Dad, and share a quick hug with him on behalf of so many on the AnySoldier Forum who asked me to pass on their greetings. (Had I a second for each one who asked that, I told the Dad the hug would have been 10 minutes and people would have started to talk! lol) It was nice to be able to do more than a virtual hug, even if just for a moment.

I also connected after the service with some other AnySoldier folks—some from here in WA (Momofchris and her hubby, pictured with me at left), and the one from SoCal (who refused to get into the pic! Durn!) who I'd chatted with overnight by phone. We had a nice brunch together, and then headed off our separate ways. The trip back home was really beautiful, lots of sun interspersed with bursts of stormy weather alternating with incredibly bright sunshine. But it was also sprinkled with Patriot Guard Riders returning home! Each time I saw one or a group of them, it gave me the added motivation to stay awake for the journey. At one point, I was passing them on the left, but the front Riders moved into the left lane ahead of me as a slow truck was in the right lane, for a glorious half mile, I ended up surrounded on three sides by PGR—in front, to my right, and behind me!! What an awesome feeling that was—one I won't soon forget.

This was an incredible trip to have made, and I couldn't be more glad that I did it. Not only the realignment of my perspective that I received overnight, or the ability to pay tangible respects to a lost hero—but this will be a time that will live on in my heart to inspire me. The next time I feel tired, overwhelmed, exhausted with the drama (yes, even while doing "good works" drama nearly always seems to come!), grumpy about sorting one more box of cards when I'd rather do something else....well I think this is going to serve as a memory to shake me back into remembering what's really important. None of what I go through in my little life in any way compares to what our nation's heroes do every day. None of my losses ever compare to what this hero's family has lost. And when I'm in a low spot and need some extra get-up-and-go, the Patriot Guard Riders will be right here in my memory, giving me added incentive to step up my game just a little more.

Here's the promised PGR video:


Side note: I took more pictures and video while there, and will be using them to make a tribute video to send to the Dad, requesting permission to also send it to Rick's brothers in arms in the KOP.