“Leo,” I whisper against his chest.
“I’m here, baby. I’m here,” he whispers back. He then lifts me into his arms and helps me find the seat they reserved for me. He doesn’t set me down on it. He sits on it and holds me on his lap. I continue to cry, something I haven’t allowed myself to do since the night after we arrived.
The chaplain continues with the service. When he’s finished, the detail of seven send the Colonel, my daddy, off with three volleys from their rifles—each one startling me. They fold a flag as they do for the loved ones the fallen have left behind.
“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Marine Corps, and a grateful Nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service.”
When they hand me the flag, I don’t want to throw it as I imagined I’d want to. Instead, I wrap my arms around it and hold it tightly to my chest, the same way Leo wraps his arms around me.
Finally, they play taps from a recorder. I imagine there aren’t many buglers anymore. This closes out the ceremony, but it all feels so very wrong.
Will I ever reach the acceptance stage?
