And then, No. One. Moved. No soldier stood up. No man in green came forward. No. One. Moved. The kids were looking back and forth to see the guy dressed like daddy. I was sitting by the window during this flight and I noticed a commotion by the side of the plane. That’s when I saw him. The brown box with an American Flag draped over it.
It was slowly but surely exiting the plane first. I saw as a woman came from the shadows of the building and draped her body across the casket. I saw her lie on that flag and embrace her soldier and my heart stopped. The soldiers stood around the casket at attention as she lay with her soldier. No one asked her to hurry up or to move; no one ushered her to the side or spoke to her. The soldiers stood beside her, at attention, waiting and watching over her.
“Mommy, where’s the soldier? Where is he?” Mattox and Bubba snapped me back from the deep grief and pain striking my heart. I looked at her, my four-year-old little girl, and pointed out the window while tears streamed down my face and pain held onto my heart. She looked and saw the brown box, the American Flag, the back of a woman broken over the casket, a woman dressed in black.
“Is that how Daddy came home? Did he come home in a box?”
No words. Just a broken moment that stood still between her little face of pure curiosity and me. “No, Daddy gave a year of his life, he worked hard and sacrificed much, but this soldier gave it all. He sacrificed everything for our freedom. So now we can thank him, we can be quiet and think about how much he gave for us, for all of us.”
