Firetrucks and a Funeral

Today I attended the funeral of a local soldier who was killed in Iraq. Was there that I met the Gold Star mothers from our area, and was there that I missed the Marines.

I give my heart and soul to every branch of our military. But the Marines do it different. Today I was glad in a way. Obviously, I would feel more "at home" at a Marine Corps funeral... so there is less shock for me at any other kind of funeral - even an Army funeral.

Brent Dunkleberger has children. He's a father. He's a friend, son, etc as well... but he's a father. That's what made me clench my jaw while walking near his casket. He has children, and in reality he wasn't much beyond the age of youth himself. I helped a week or so ago to pack toys for his children, and when I saw their photographs I wished to give something more than toys. The Marines had sent them along, and I believe the Marines who helped stand guard today sent something else along as well - pride.

I hesitated to attend. This was the first military funeral since Jason's own. I wasn't sure how it would be for me, but I wanted to embrace his family and offer them genuine hope. Since this wasn't a Marine Corps funeral, I could pass through without associating Jason's death. Until I saw the firetrucks.

For Jason, firetrucks from surrounding counties and everywhere in between showed up to hoist giant American flags and to flash lights of red, white, and blue. They did the same for Brent, who was a volunteer firefighter himself.

Brent is resting not too far from Jason... ironically, in the very same cemetary. Together may they enjoy the beautiful sunsets over that western skyline.