“When we were visiting here all those years ago, we could never have dreamed we would one day be here for something like this.”
Yet here we were on the first Friday of September 2011 following behind the caisson of a young Army Captain killed in the line of duty. This special young man and dear friend to my daughter, also an Army Captain, had left a clear message that he had died doing what he loved to do. Indeed, what he felt called to do. Nevertheless, the bitterness of losing him tragically permeated our hearts and lives. Burying him in Arlington has forever changed these hallowed acres for me. Now more than ever, I understand
- there’s an amazing life story that can never be adequately represented by a simple granite stone.
- the ongoing sense of honor and comradeship encapsulated in a soldier’s final request to be forever laid to rest near others who have served, and perhaps paid the ultimate price for doing so.
- the haunting collective and individual beauty encapsulated in the precise angles and lines of row upon row of white headstones.
- the true sense of the cost of war.
- the honor and gratitude due those resting within and those left standing afterwards.