Cargo.

If you fly on an airplane before you die, you are a passenger. If after, you are cargo.

So we gathered at the United Airlines Cargo building and found dock 20. There we stood with our flags and waited. When the casket was inside the building and the family was standing with us, Joshua Brennan would be carried down the ramp by his fellow soldiers and placed in the Gunderson hearse.

The Gunderson Funeral Home handled the service for Rachel Hugo exactly three weeks before. The same videographer who documented Rachel’s funeral was here to begin documenting Joshua’s.

And it was reassuring to see purposeful professionals going about their work in a deliberate way. The family was driving down from Madison just to drive back with Joshua. I thought how terrible it would be for them to see the cargo moved by forklift into a lonely truck. Better to stay in Madison.

Well, they didn’t stay in Madison. They were here. But the cargo would not be moved by forklift. It would be carrier by six soldiers. And it would not be transported to Madison by a single truck driver. It would be transported by a hearse driver and four police cars and seven police bikes and three dozen Patriot Guard bikes.

Fred understands. In his briefing he said, “We are here to escort a fallen hero home. I know we do ‘welcome homes’ but this is what we are about.”

Joshua served in the 503^rd Airborne Regiment. Jim, my step-son, serves in the 505^th Airborne Regiment.

Jim returned five days ago. (As a passenger, not as cargo.) Robin has been stressed for the last month because she believes the soldiers may let their guard down when they start thinking about their return home. Jim’s older brother, John, has been accepted into the Army Special Forces and so he will train for more than a year before he may return to combat. So Robin (and I) can breathe easier for a time. When we see Jim, his humor will be good for his mom.

In the midst of these weighty matters, it is helpful (and maybe necessary) to maintain a sense of humor. In the midst of the briefing when there was a question about tolls or speeds or something, a state trooper spoke up: “When you get to the Welcome Center, see me. I will have your tickets ready.”

Master Sergeant Jones is getting out in less than a half-year – after 27 in. I’ll bet that “old 27-and-out” Jones has a great sense of humor because that’s what he must have had to survive that long.

But to succeed, he must have had a sense of seriousness. His comrade came home as cargo. Neither Jones nor Brennan picked Afghanistan as the place to fight. They both simply agreed to serve the cause of freedom where ever that may take them. Thank you for your service, Master Sergeant.

At a briefing a few months ago, when the Ride Captain asked if it were the first mission for anyone, a few rose their hands. A voice from the rear said, “It’s about time! Where have you been?”

I have been saving that line. Fred asked if there were any first-timers. Four of us raised their hands. I kept silent. It is the kind of line that can fall flat if it is not done right. I publish it here because I realize that I will never try it.

Fred asked for a showing of those from Wisconsin. About a third of us raised hands. They would make the whole trip, but for them it would end close to home. With the time change and the cool temperatures expected after sundown, I would head back south-east from the Welcome Center at the state line.

Fred asked us all to raise our hands and wave. And that is as much of a ride waiver as would be demanded of us. And then we formed-up along the two sides of the ramp that leads to dock 20 of the United Airlines Cargo Building. Fred made sure that the flag of the United States Army was held next to the waiting hearse.

Within our two lines were two other lines that defined the path to the waiting hearse. On one side there was a line of ten Madison cops – Joshua’s dad is a Madison officer. On the other side were MSG Jones and two other NCOs.

So, when the 10 or 20 family members climbed the ramp, they took positions extending the short line of soldiers. They couldn’t know what to expect. I imagine they were concerned that they did not interfere with whatever was to happen. So they stood in a line, following our example.

The casket appeared at the door of dock 20. “Attention!”

The soldiers and the PGRiders snapped to attention. The family, which had been silent, got more silent. The casket was moved down the ramp. “Present arms!”

The soldiers and the PGRiders held a salute. The casket was moved into the hearse. “Order Arms!”

The soldiers and the PGRiders returned to a stance of attention. A long time passed. The family got still more silent. Finally, Fred said, “Patriot Guard! Mount up!”

And with that command, we moved down the ramp and toward the bikes, disassembling our flags as we walked.

The family has the final authority over everything, of course. But it was precisely because the funeral home and the army and the Patriot Guard were purposeful and deliberate that allowed the family to disconnect from the process. They were free to turn their minds toward Joshua, confident that his body was in the hands of people who knew how to care for him.

On Tuesday, the pastor at Saint Maria Goretti Parish would give the family reassurance of the care for Joshua’s soul, and the funeral home, the United States Army and the Patriot Guard Riders would be there to support those efforts. But Sunday and Monday were in the charge of the funeral home, the USA and the PGR only.

Squad cars that were not part of the procession blocked all the intersections between the cargo building and interstate 90. At the Des Plaines oasis, the two squad cars that had led us through the city traffic abruptly pulled over onto the shoulder and the officers quickly emerged. They were in position to salute most of our passing flags and the hearse that was following us.

A little farther down the road where Illinois 47 crosses I-90, a PGRider was waiting for us on the right shoulder. He quickly started up and joined us. At that same location, five people (all women, I think) were standing on the Illinois 47 bridge holding flags for us to pass beneath. They must have been family to the PGRider who joined us there.

So that was cool. We started later than we had planned. For all that extra time, the PGRider waited on the shoulder and the five women waited on the bridge. Way cool.

On another bridge, there were two people holding another flag for us. A few miles after that, Oscar’s flag broke off and he headed for the right shoulder. Twenty minutes later he was back at the head of our column.

Other than those things and road construction north of Rockford, the trip was uneventful. We crossed the state line and pulled into the Wisconsin Welcome Center. Most of the Illinois bike would turn homeward, and additional Wisconsin bikes would join. 40 bikes would leave the Welcome Center for Madison.

I left before they did. I raced ahead to the place where Wisconsin 81 crosses I-90 and took a position on the bridge. Seconds later the motorcycle cops leading the procession came into sight.

They were followed by the hearse and family.

And they were followed by us.

I am not able to attend the Monday visitation or the Tuesday funeral for Joshua Brennan and I regret that.* He was a paratrooper like Jim and John. But I know there are many people in Wisconsin who love him – even if they never met him – and I know they will take care of him.

120 photos taken in Illinois

11 more Illinois photos and 61 taken in Wisconsin

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*I received an email from one who did attend the Tuesday funeral. It is here.