Lake Bluff is just 52 miles of Interstate from Midlothian. My grandson was busy with his mommy so I would be traveling alone. That seemed like an opportunity missed because a funeral can be such an uplifting experience.

The parents of Christopher Abeyta might pick a different adjective, but I bet they know what I mean. The fact that Christopher was in Afghanistan to try to make the world a better place was itself testament to the heroic way he spent his life. If war were simply a matter of money, the only thing we would have to talk about would be taxes.

A life was spent. What did we buy?

National Guardsmen from Illinois are main component of Task Force Phoenix. From the Phoenix website: “Building Afghanistan’s Security Forces is a long term endeavor. Combined Joint Task Force Phoenix is committed to helping bring Afghanistan’s Army and Police to a level where they can conduct independent, self-sustained Counter Insurgency and security operations to defeat terrorism and provide a secure, stable environment within Afghanistan.”

Christopher traveled 7 thousand miles “to defeat terrorism and provide a secure, stable environment within Afghanistan” and you can’t beat that with a stick.

Christopher traveled 7 thousand miles to do God’s work.

And that calls for a celebration. We all conform to proper decorum when we are standing in honor of the fallen hero, but in the parking lot as we are gathering there is a different feeling. We came because we are happy (!) to have the opportunity to endorse his heroic life. We didn’t go to Afghanistan to steal their oil – they don’t have any. Their only exports are opium and terror. We went there for the motive that is the luxury of a lone superpower: We went there to confront Evil. Christopher went there to make the world a better place. What a wonderful guy he must have been.

Steve was the Ride Captain. Like the funeral director or the Casualty Assistance Officer, he had to focus on the administration of the events.

And that left the rest of us free to focus on our individual participation.

I certainly would not have attended Christopher’s funeral except for my PGR involvement.

The funeral home was located diagonally across an intersection from the entrance to the church. There was a private Mass in the funeral home at 0900 followed at 1000 by a public Mass in the church. We stood with flags along both sides of busy 147^th street between those two institutions while the family was inside the funeral home.

I walked to the rear of the funeral home where American Legion and VFW folks were waiting and the bagpipers were practicing.

Then I found a place in the flagline near the funeral home front doors. The utility pole next to me bore a new yellow ribbon and many old scars.

As the time for the family’s movement approached, the police stopped traffic on 147^th a block away in both directions and we established parallel flaglines from door-to-door.

This was the view from the funeral home toward the church as we were moving into position. Then the American Legion, the VFW and dozens of cops marched in and formed two more lines just inside ours. We all stood at attention as the funeral home doors opened and then rendered a salute as the casket passed.

Perhaps, before they emerged, the family expected to wait for the traffic signal to allow them to cross the four lanes of traffic. Instead they saw hundreds of solemn, silent witness waiting for them to pass between their numbers, wishing only to make a traditional gesture of reverence – some with fingertips to eyebrow, others with hand over heart.

And then they were inside the church. The PGRiders walked slowly back to the parking lot to wait. Near the church, another group was soon to leave – I was just in time to record the participation of some Cub Scouts. The values of Scouting are perfectly consistent with honoring a fallen hero at his funeral. I understand that some parents would not want their child to participate. I don’t understand why.

I had cheered the Cubs as I took their picture, but no one else found anything to cheer about.

Motorcycle Officer McNabney has 9-11-01 embroidered on the side of his cap. We started talking to each other again. Most of us would spend an hour in that parking lot waiting to join the procession for the long trip to the big national cemetery 35 miles southwest. McNabney would lead the hearse.

Of the three funerals, this was the one I drove to. I was tired from the long ride to Freeport the previous day and I was apprehensive about the weather for the ride to Wauconda the next day. Since I would not be among the bikes in procession, I was part of the advance party leaving for the cemetery early.

When we reached Abraham Lincoln National Cemetery, the ALNC Guard was already waiting. When a cemetery worker produced the two temporary flag poles, they promptly helped set them up.

Then they rehearsed for their primary mission.

We went past them to a place midway along the entrance drive where two terraced hills choke the road. From the top of one of the hills I found the flag that always flies at half-staff.

Then I came down and Yvette went up.

Soon the Patriot Guard came rolling in followed by a dozen cop cars.

Then Motorcycle Officer McNabney rolled past immediately followed by SGT Abeyta.

Christopher Abeyta was then taken to his place among the many other warriors waiting for him here.

back to the three funerals of Company D