It's What They Do
Last Tuesday brought surprising and sad news. My husband called me and told me of the death of a fellow soldier, a man he had known for years. Tom was a full-time soldier who liked to work late, and co-workers found him dead at the armory that morning. Tom was young (41) and of slender build, so his death was very unexpected. Though I get an ear-full about some people, I have never heard anything but positive about the 23 year career of MSG Tom Lenett.
Friday was a chilly day that added windy and rainy to the description by afternoon. I met my husband at the cemetery at 1:30 PM. There were many soldiers already there, including the funeral team. A light mist was falling and the wind was getting blustry. I stood to the side of the funeral tent under my umbrella and watched the preparations. One team stood to receive the casket from the hearse. They went over the steps a dozen times to make sure they had everything just right. The rifle team and bugler stood some distance away, already in formation. Several officers stood to one side of the tent. One by one the soldiers arrived and took their place in perfect rows on the other side of the tent. The sound of cars pulling in signaled the arrival of the funeral procession, and the rows of soldiers snapped to attention. The family began to move toward the tent, but were easily outnumbered two to one by military members. The team received the flag-draped casket from the hearse as Tom's beautiful 6 year-old daughter stood by, and they marched it to the gravesite and placed it down with precision. They held the flag outstretched just above the casket as the chaplain began the service. By now it was pouring down rain, and the wind was flipping umbrellas inside-out. I looked around at the soldiers. To my left about 50 soldiers stood at attention. Though fully exposed to the wind and rain, these men and women never moved a muscle. I saw the rain dripping off their noses and ears, but all ranks of officers and enlisted stood unwavering in silent tribute to one of their own. As the chaplain prepared to pray, I stole a glance at the rifle team standing in the rain. Seven heads bowed, and their rifles rested at the toe of one boot and in one white-gloved hand. Twenty-one shots rang out, and the notes of Taps sounded above the wind. The flag was folded perfectly with several shell casings inside, and the general knelt to present it to Tom's little girl. Only when the funeral ended did the soldiers move, and from generals to privates I heard no complaints about being cold or wet.
It is just what they do for one of their own.
Rest in peace MSG Tom Lenett.
Friday was a chilly day that added windy and rainy to the description by afternoon. I met my husband at the cemetery at 1:30 PM. There were many soldiers already there, including the funeral team. A light mist was falling and the wind was getting blustry. I stood to the side of the funeral tent under my umbrella and watched the preparations. One team stood to receive the casket from the hearse. They went over the steps a dozen times to make sure they had everything just right. The rifle team and bugler stood some distance away, already in formation. Several officers stood to one side of the tent. One by one the soldiers arrived and took their place in perfect rows on the other side of the tent. The sound of cars pulling in signaled the arrival of the funeral procession, and the rows of soldiers snapped to attention. The family began to move toward the tent, but were easily outnumbered two to one by military members. The team received the flag-draped casket from the hearse as Tom's beautiful 6 year-old daughter stood by, and they marched it to the gravesite and placed it down with precision. They held the flag outstretched just above the casket as the chaplain began the service. By now it was pouring down rain, and the wind was flipping umbrellas inside-out. I looked around at the soldiers. To my left about 50 soldiers stood at attention. Though fully exposed to the wind and rain, these men and women never moved a muscle. I saw the rain dripping off their noses and ears, but all ranks of officers and enlisted stood unwavering in silent tribute to one of their own. As the chaplain prepared to pray, I stole a glance at the rifle team standing in the rain. Seven heads bowed, and their rifles rested at the toe of one boot and in one white-gloved hand. Twenty-one shots rang out, and the notes of Taps sounded above the wind. The flag was folded perfectly with several shell casings inside, and the general knelt to present it to Tom's little girl. Only when the funeral ended did the soldiers move, and from generals to privates I heard no complaints about being cold or wet.
It is just what they do for one of their own.
Rest in peace MSG Tom Lenett.
posted by Jennifer at 8:47 AM
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