On Friday, my brother, who was too young to leave this world, will be laid to rest among the hallowed grounds of Arlington National Cemetery. It has been difficult, waiting to get this closure, yet, not really wanting it, because that only means he is really gone.
The six horses which pull the caisson through the quiet lanes of Arlington National Cemetery are matched. They are paired into three teams – the lead team is in front, the swing team follows, and nearest the caisson is the wheel team. Although all six animals are saddled, only those on the left have mounted riders. This is a tradition that began in the early horse-drawn artillery days when one horse of each team was mounted while the other carried provisions and feed - taken from The Old Guard Caisson Platoon.
"Being able to provide closure to family members as their loved one is laid to rest here at Arlington -- to be able to be a part of that, and to be able to offer the last measure of respect that the U.S. Army and our sister services can give to her departed heroes."
They carry him to his final resting place. I am moved, just by looking at these pictures taken by me from another time - the scene before me, stirring that place in my heart. There are no words for the sight and sound, the rhythm of horses hooves, the lump in my throat, and the weight on my chest, but I know that I will watch the leaves glisten in the morning sun, as I watch the fallen join the fallen. Because it is too hard to do anything at this moment, except to wait for the breeze to blow it all away.
I knew this day was coming, but the circumstances put it off for seven more months because of COVID. And now, suddenly, I am just not ready for it. I know, who is ever ready for it?
