I love my wife. One of the most terrible five-word sentences
I could imagine is, “Robin was in an accident.”
I now add, “That’s my boy in there.”
* * *
I stopped at Perkin’s
Pancake House around noon. Bad timing if you want fast service, but Linda did fine. She soon brought a Swiss mushroomburger
and coffee. As soon as they were gone,
so was I.
I arrived at 1300, a
half-hour before the riders meeting. It
opened with the Pledge of Allegiance and concluded with a “minute of silence”
to honor our hero. The minute was ended
when Paul, our Ride Captain, said “Amen” so it was really a minute of silent
prayer.
DJ sent me to the end of
the flagline most distant from the main parking
area. I knew that meant that I would
probably not have a lot of pedestrian contact, but I try to do any job they
give me as well as I can so I settled-in.
A woman walked away from
the entrance of the funeral home and in my direction. She passed other Patriot Guard and made eye
contact with me. The visiting hours had
not yet officially begun, so I speculated that she was the funeral director and
would tell me not to stand on the grass, or to move back from the driveway
farther onto the grass, or some other grass-related instruction.
“I’m Robert’s aunt and I
want to thank you for coming.”
Always stand-up straight, no matter where they have
you standing. She had summoned her strength and her composure
and she was determined to go down our line methodically and speak with each one
of us. She started with me because I was
on the end. As I realized that, I
thought I should offer to escort her.
Then I thought that that might somehow diminish what she was trying to
do. Then I thought I was thinking about
it too much and I should just do it…
The paradigm shift had put
me off my game. It was time to release
her handshake and let her go.
Other members of Robert’s
family would go down our line over the next hour or two. I have stood in a lot of flaglines
so I have a basis for comparative observation:
there were a lot of people who wanted to give us each
recognition. I especially
remember his grandmother – so gracious while in so much pain. Soldiers, too – regular
army and Wisconsin National Guard, both.
Then:
“I’m Mitch Basham and
that’s my boy in there.”
I didn’t feel like
stopping again at Perkin’s but I had to stop for gas. When I got home Robin was happy to see me.