The hearse carrying my Grandfather rolled to a stop under the salutes of the VFW firing party and the Army’s honor guard. I composed myself, and moved forward to the hearse to perform one last service for my Grandfather.

We lined up on either side of the casket - myself and my cousins, brother-in-law Dan, and my Grandfather’s nephew Dirk. As we slowly slid the flag-draped casket from the hearse and onto the carriage, both detachments came to attention. We then placed our hands on the casket - mine over the stars upon the blue field - and walked to the enclosure where the honor guard waited.

There were benches opposite the casket - but none of us sat. We milled around into place - Beth and Malinda stood to my side, to front stood my mother with Alex. Alex still clutched a rose in his hand - the flower that his friend Brian the florist had put into the funeral arrangement to symbolize him - “his” rose. Dad alternated between crushing the handles on my Grandmother’s wheelchair and tenderly patting her on the back.

At a signal from the funeral director, the firing party prepared their first volley, and a million memories careened through my head.

Ready, aim, fire! …kneeling beside his chair, talking with him about sports….giving him his presents on Christmas day at my parents house…

Ready, aim, fire! …watching him hug Alex, and talk to him about Lily….seeing him laugh as my father and Uncle Tom teased him about fishing…

Ready, aim, fire! …getting an irate phone call after a Browns loss…his excitement when I tracked down the Jo. Henry….

As the echos of the salute faded, the bugler raised his instrument and the mournful notes of Taps echoed around us. Tears rolled down my cheeks, but I almost started laughing as I could hear his indignant voice wondering what all the fuss was about.

Then the priest came forward - he spoke, but his words were cold and meaningless to me. Just like the priest at the funeral earlier in the morning, I think, you didn’t know him. Then I shake my head - if it helps my family through this than it has some meaning.

When the words of the priest were finally over, the two-man honor guard up from Ft. Knox came to attention at each end of my Grandfather’s casket and saluted him one final time. Each grasping one end of the flag they lifted it from the casket and pulled it taught, and stepped to their left.

The flag was folded in half, and then half again. Then the triangular folds were made, the honor guard stepping forward a step with each second fold.

The folded flag was saluted, slowly and deliberately, by first the junior sergeant and then the senior sergeant. Then the detail leader moved forward and kneeled in front of my grandmother.