Touching Story
I received the story below from a couple of friends and couldn't resist sharing here. I'm not sure if it's fact or fiction but I really enjoyed it and hope you will too...
I just wanted to get the
day over with and go down to Smokey's. Sneaking a look
at my watch, I saw the time, 655.Five minutes to go before
the cemetery gates are closed for the day.Full dress was hot
in the August sun... Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the
heat and humidity at the same level--both too
high.
I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac
Deville, looked factory-new.It pulled into the parking lot at a
snail's pace.An old woman got out so slow I thought
she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about four or five bunches as best I could
tell.
I couldn't help myself..The thought came unwanted, and left a
slightly bitter taste:'She's going to spend an hour, and for
this old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready
to get out of here right now! But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming
in.
Kevin would lock the 'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy
along, we might make it to Smokey's in
time.
I broke post attention.My hip made gritty noises when I took the
first step and the pain went up a notch.I must have made a
real military sight: middle-aged man with a small pot
gut and half a limp, in marine full-dress uniform,
which had lost its razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the
cemetery.
I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk.She looked up at me
with an old woman's
squint.
'Ma'am,may I assist you in any
way?'
She took long enough to
answer. 'Yes, son.Can you carry these flowers?I seem to be moving a tad
slow these days.'
'My pleasure, ma'am.'Well, it wasn't too much of a
lie.
She looked again.'Marine, where were you stationed?'
' Vietnam, ma'am.Ground-pounder. '69
to '71.'
She looked at me closer.'Wounded in action, I see. Well done,
Marine.I'll be as quick as I
can.'
I lied a little bigger:'No hurry,
ma'am.'
She smiled and winked at me.'Son, I'm 85-years-old and I
can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done.Might be
the last time I can do this.My name's Joanne
Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one
more time.'
'Yes, ma 'am.At your
service.'
She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She
picked one of the flowers out of my arm and laid it on top of
the stone.She murmured something I couldn't quite make
out. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson,
USMC: France
1918.
She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II
section, stopping at one stone.I saw a tear slowly tracking its
way down her cheek.She put a bunch on a stone; the
name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943.
She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone,
Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC,
1944.
She paused for a second.'Two more, son, and we'll be
done'
I almost didn't say anything, but, 'Yes, ma'am.Take your
time.'
She looked confused. 'Where's the Vietnam section, son? I
seem to have lost my
way.'
I pointed with my chin.'That way,
ma'am.'
'Oh!' she chuckled quietly.'Son, me and old age ain't too
friendly.'
She headed down the walk I'd pointed at.She stopped at a couple of
stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch
on Larry Wieserman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel
Wieserman, USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a
few words I still couldn't make
out.
'OK, son, I'm finished.Get me back to my car and you can go
home.'
Yes, ma'am.If I may ask, were those your
kinfolk?'
She paused. 'Yes, Donald Davidson was my father,
Stephen was my
uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel were
our sons. All killed in action, all
marines.'
She stopped.Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't
know. She made her way to her car, slowly and
painfully.
I waited for a
polite distance to come between us and then double-timed
it over to Kevin, waiting by the
car.
'Get to the 'Out' gate
quick.I have something I've got to
do.'
Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him.He
broke the rules to get us there down the service road.We beat
her. She hadn't made it around the rotunda
yet.
'Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead.'I
humped it across the drive to the other
post.
When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began
the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my
best gunny's voice: 'TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!'
I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress
attention and a salute that would make his DI proud.
She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving
her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her
country, and for knowing duty, honor and
sacrifice.
I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that
Cadillac.
Instead of 'The End,' just think of
'Taps.'
As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer:
'Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at
home or overseas. Hold them in your loving hands and
protect them as they protect us.'
Let's all keep those currently serving and those who
have gone
before in our thoughts. They are the reason for the many freedoms
we enjoy.
'In God We
Trust.'
Sorry about your monitor; it made mine blurry
too!
If we ever forget that we're one nation under God, then we will be
a nation gone
under!