Well, my husband has finally been put to rest.
It was like explosion after explosion. Craziness had run away with my stomach to pray at the porcelain God out my asshole too many times. I should have had the toilet christened with Holy water before the burial.
Just about five fucking years of life gone by... Took two years to get his ashes and only got half, but I think I got the better half anyways. My ass needed a serious debate with cotton and satin after all of this. I think it deserves its own burial now.
At any rate, my husband had served in the USCG and the US Army. He was a proud son of a complete bitch and that's just the way it was. He is survived by 5 asshole brothers who blamed me for his PTSD hanging and they're all in denial, the lot of ex-wife beating, arrogant drunks. But fuck 'em. They can blow the other half of the ashes out their holes. It's over and there was actually a decent funeral this time.
Being the wife, I should have received the flag and some dignity during the full honor guard military funeral procession, but they took the "show" away and babbled on like retarded monkeys with no respect for my husband. It was blasphemous as they didn't even have a priest and I don't even believe in Catholics.
This time was very different. It was quiet. There was no reverie. No motorcycle bands, no after party, no drunks or druggies. It was civil and I was shocked at what I received. There were things most unexpected like a wanker using the methane at the local landfill for a terrorist methane bomb. I would not expect that either, although I contemplate the explosions.
I held onto that heavy plastic container filled with the better half of my husband and the death certificate at the trailer where Father Ralph soon greeted me, my Mother and Stepfather. He was most respectful and kind. I saw strong looking men; they looked like they were honorable in their U.S. Air Force dress uniforms. What were they doing there? Who's procession were they going to? Must have been someone really important. They were wearing top notch gear with white gloves reminiscent of bygone days from fairy tales in my feeble mind.
The director of the National Cemetery came out to greet us and told us to bring the better half of my husband's ashes, and the flowers and hop in the buggy and follow him to the section 2 area. It was a gazebo structure where they held the funeral ceremonies. Father Ralph was already on his way. Mr. Director took the death certificate and soon we were off going down familiar roads that I didn't think were so familiar at first. Then I saw the curve in the road and remembered that place where all the hoopla went down the first time. I tried not to think about it. There was too much vulgarity. What a joke. Not a funny one either.
We reached our destination: Section 2. It was a peaceful covered outdoor building and the grass couldn't be greener if someone painted it.
Father Ralph had us come forward and enter and there were the three men who were dressed so eloquently from the Air Force and there was a bugle on the ground. Could it be? Nah. Why? An honor guard? Yes, it was! My eyes started to tear up, but I held a firm upper lip and my shoulders were higher than usual as my ass was clenched tight as well. Nerves. It was good though. Finally Joe would be resting in peace and my daughter really would have a place to visit Daddy. She is 9 now.
Father Ralph made Catholicism look beautiful that day. The songs of prayer made me teary eyed and I felt peace sweep over me and longing for times that are gone forever. But, this was good. This was the final chapter. Joe could finally rest in peace and I can go on knowing that I did the right thing for my daughter and myself as well as the rest of our family. Never mind the arrogant 5 brothers. This is sacred. They don't even know.
After the Holy water was sprinkled and the prayers were sung and the Amens were said, the 2 of 3 honor guards marched under the roof and stood in front of us with a folded flag. They unfolded it in an almost robot-like fashion, their eyes locked, flag being placed in ways of perfection. Then the refolded in the same orderly way. When they completed their task, the bugler played Taps. It was beautiful and sad. That song always makes me weep now. I sometimes hate having feelings. It makes me angry, but this time it was beautiful. For the first time in years it actually felt cleansing.
After the bugler finished, one honor guard stood in front of me, saluted me, and did kneel right in front of my shiny facade. He thanked my husband and me and gave me the dignified flag they had so neatly folded and on behalf of my husband's service to the country in the name of the President of the United States of America. Then he stood up after I thanked him. The two honor guards saluted me again and marched away and the bugler joined them in procession. I could hear the even click clacking of their shiny, black polished dress shoes fade away as they left. I was left in awe and tears. My Mother was dabbing at her eyes and my Stepfather was bowing his head.
This was true respect for Joe. It was respect for me and my daughter. I couldn't believe what had just taken place. I didn't ask for it. All I had asked for was a few prayers as my husband had been a Catholic, and I don't believe in those things.
The director came up to me after we cleared the watery eyes and hugged. He told me he oversaw the first funeral and saw that I got a raw deal being the next of kin. He couldn't believe the lack of respect for my husband and that the flag was given to Joe's estranged son. There had been no consideration for me, Joe's wife. He also told me that the other half of the ashes would never ever be allowed to lay rest in any military cemetery and the arrogant brothers had no rights. I am the next of kin. The fools blamed me for my husband's hanging. The director gave me the utmost respect and he knew that I didn't expect this honor, but he made things right. What a compassionate fellow. I thanked him and Father Ralph and hugged each of them.
I was reminded a couple of times of the director's respect for the dead and the living. I saw so much compassion. It got to me. It was good. It was peaceful and now I know that if there is a Heaven, Joe can be at peace and I can move on more every day. This will help me and my family.
As Joe always said, "tough as nails." And in the military: ALWAYS FORWARD! HOO-AH!
Thank you to my family, friends and all the people in my life who have helped me along the way. A little compassion goes a long way.
Just like that squeezable Charmin toilet paper with a compassionate coupon, it's worth it. It saves a lot of money and it's kind our asses.
