[Diabeetus]

This is a story I got from someone else.

CEMETERY
ESCORT DUTY

I just wanted to get
the day over with and go down to Smokey's. Sneaking a look at my watch,
I saw the time, 1655. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates
are closed for the day. Full dress was hot in the
August
sun. Oklahoma summertime was as
bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same level--both too high.



I saw the car pull
into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked
factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's
pace. An old woman got out
so slow I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of
flowers
--about four or five bunches as best I could tell.
I couldn't help
myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter
taste: 'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my
hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right
now!' But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.

Kevin would lock the
'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make it to
Smokey's in time.
I broke post
attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and
the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military
sight: middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in
marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty
minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.
I stopped in front of
her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's
squint.
'Ma'am,may I assist
you in any way?'
She took long enough
to answer.
'Yes,
son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a
tad slow these days.'
'My pleasure,
ma'am.' Well, it
wasn't too much of a lie.
She looked
again. 'Marine, where were
you s tationed?'
' Vietnam,
ma'am. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.'
She l
ooked at me
closer. 'Wounded in action,
I see. Well done, Marine. I'll be as quick as I
can.'
I lied a little
bigger: 'No hurry,
ma'am.'
She smiled and winked
at me. 'Son, I'm
85-years-old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this
done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's
Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more
time.'
'Yes, ma
'am. At your
service.'
She headed for the
World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the flowers
out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured
something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was
Donald S.
Davidson, USMC: France
1918.
She turned away and
made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one
stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her
cheek. She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X.
Davidson, USMC, 1943.
She went up the row a
ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J.
Wieserman, USMC, 1944.
She paused for a
second. 'Two more, son, and
we'll be done'
I almost didn't say
anything, but, 'Yes,
ma'am. Take your time.'

She looked confused.
'Wh
ere's the
Vietnam section,
son? I seem to have lost my way.'
I pointed with my
chin. 'That way,
ma'am.'
'Oh!' she chuckled
quietly. 'Son, me and old age
ain't too friendly.'

She headed down the
walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she
found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on
Larry Wieserman,
USMC, 1968, and the last on
Darrel Wieserman,
USMC, 1970. She
stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out.
'OK, son, I'm
finished. Get me back to my car and you can go
home.'
Yes,
ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?'

She paused.
'Yes,
Donald
Davidson was my father,
Stephen was my uncle,
Stanley was my husband,
Larry and
Darrel were our
sons. All killed in
action, all marines.'
She
stopped. Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't
know. She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully.

I waited for a polite distance to come
between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car.

'Get to the 'Out'
gate quick. I have something I've got to do.'
Kevin started to say
something, but saw the look I gave him. He broke the ru
les to get
us there down the service road. We beat her. She hadn't made
it around the rotunda yet.

'Kevin, stand at
attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead.'&nb sp; I
humped it across the drive to the other post.
When the Cadillac
came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to
the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice: 'TehenHut! Present
Haaaarms!'
I have to hand it to
Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention and a salute that would
make his DI proud.
She drove through that gate with two old worn-out
soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her
country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice.
I am not sure, but I
think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Instead of
'The
End,' just think of
'Taps.'
As a final thought on
my part, let me share a favorite prayer: 'Lord, keep our
servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or
overseas. Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as they
protect us.'
Let's all keep those
currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts. They are the
reason for the many freedoms we enjoy.