He chuckled as Eagle gave us a hard look, reinforcing the serious nature of our task—before pointing us to a section. With our hands metaphorically slapped, we zipped our traps and went to work planting flags.
My last cemetery visit had been for the funeral of one of Naomi’s pararescuemen. Stevenson was survived by his wife and two-year-old son, and some idiot had made the mistake of telling his kid that Stevenson was in the casket. Determined to see his daddy again, that little boy clung onto that pine box for all he was worth, shouting “Daddy!” over and over until there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. Stevenson’s widow had to pry her son off the casket so they could lower it into the earth. I’d never seen such a heartbreaking sight in my life.
I bet Stevenson would have gladly given up both arms for a chance to raise his little boy.
The thought hit me like a punch to the gut, making me realize how ungrateful I’d been for my survival. Truth be told, there were several times I’d wished that accident had taken my life, rather than just my arm. Tears stung my eyes as guilt planted a lump in my throat.
“Death seems easier sometimes. Less painful. But then I wouldn’t be here learning how to braid your hair.”
Stocks’s words swirled in my head. At the time, I’d thought he was blowing smoke up my ass to make me feel better about my circumstances. But now that I’d gotten to know him better, I believed that he really did enjoy that time with me. I glanced over to find him using a rag to brush off a headstone before planting a flag beside it.
He was such a good guy. Wanting to be a little more like him, I read the nearest headstone.
“Melvin T. Blake, MAJ, US Army WWII, July 2, 1914, May 10, 2002, Loving husband.”
Intrigued by the last line, I read another.
“Beloved wife and mother.”
“Devoted wife and friend.”
“Loving husband, father, & granddad.”
“You’re always in our hearts.”
If I had died, I wondered what my tombstone would have said. Beloved daughter and friend? Would anyone have clung to my casket? All these veterans had lost their lives and left loved ones behind. I wondered what they’d think about the months I’d spent in bed pushing my family and friends away and feeling sorry for myself.
“Unknown soldier.”
That one really did me in. So many of our fallen had given their lives, and not even their name was remembered. How many of them would have traded me my shitty situation for a chance to survive?
And why was I complaining? My life wasn’tthatbad. Yeah, I couldn’t fly or fix my own damn hair and that sucked major ass, but I was still breathing. Despite my best attempts, I wasn’t even alone. Friends surrounded me, willing to help with whatever I needed. Stocks fed me every day and worked me out every night. Naomi and my parents kept in constant contact, texting often to make sure I had everything I needed. Sure, I still had no clue what to do with my life now that my career had been ripped out from under me, but at least I had time to figure that shit out.
I needed to get better about focusing on my blessings, and not my affliction.
I thought about ways to do this as we planted flags at two other military cemeteries. By the time we headed back toward the fire station, I was determined to do better in the future.
“You okay?” Stocks asked as I removed my helmet.
I was still far from okay, but strangely enough, I was closer than I had been in months. “I will be. Just a lot on my mind.”
He pulled me against him and kissed my forehead. “You’re made of some strong shit, babe. You’ll get it all figured out.”
His faith in me was kind of cool.
Sliding an arm around my waist, he ushered me toward the building. “I didn’t tell you what we were doing, because it’s something you had to experience for yourself. It would have been easy to say we were planting flags on the graves of veterans, but that doesn’t really do it justice.”
“Yeah. I see that now.”
“The day’s far from over. Come on, or we’ll be late for the next part.” We stepped inside, and he tugged me toward the common room.
Wondering what more there could possibly be, I followed Stocks through the back door and into the large, fenced backyard of the fire station. Rows of chairs and coolers circled a fire pit that Rabbit was in the process of lighting.
“We roasting marshmallows and singing Kumbaya?” I asked.
Stocks chuckled. “Something like that.”
He grabbed us each a beer and we took our seats as everyone else did the same. Sitting in the outside ring gave me a good opportunity to watch everyone interact. Shit was flung, jokes were told, and backs were patted. I was struck by how veterans who’d served in different branches could come together so easily. There was definitely an air of brotherhood and camaraderie amongst the bikers.
