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1
Isabelle
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Father John continues his sermon as grey clouds roll in and light rain begins. A few large, black umbrellas open, and someone opens one behind me, raising it above my head to protect me from the weather. It wasn’t supposed to rain today, and even though it is light, I can still see the tiny raindrops hit my father’s coffin, as it sits mere meters from me here on the grass at Arlington Cemetery.
The weather is reflective of my mood. Grey and solemn; all I want to do is cry. But I won’t. My attention-seeking mother is doing enough of that for the both of us, as she sobs next to me, practically laying in Brian’s arms. I can hear her, but I don’t look at her. I don’t look her way or at anyone else.
My gaze remains on dad.
I am stoic as I look straight ahead with my back straight, looking at nothing and no one else aside from my father’s coffin. Brown oak timber, polished and beveled with gold handles strategically placed round the sides. It is traditional and solid, just like he was. It shines when it catches the light as the clouds part and weave above.
It is draped in the nation's flag, an honor and a sign of respect for a fallen soldier. The flag will be folded and given to me—at my father’s wishes. My mother wasn’t happy; she wanted the attention, no doubt, the feeling of acknowledgement. But as she continues to parade Brian around openly, it is clear to everyone here that he isn’t just a friend.
The coffin is holding the first man that I ever loved. The man who wasn’t always around when I was growing up, but he made it count when he was. He taught me so many things. Being an only child, he didn’t treat me differently because I was a girl. He made me learn all the outdoor skills better than any scout group. He taught me to defend myself if needed, how to be brave and how to be strong. Most of all, he taught me how to be loved and how to love in return.
Here, in front of the crowd as the minister says his final words, I know there are soldiers nearby. Kind men whose job it is to carry my father to his last resting place. They are standing off to the side, ready for the final act of lowering him into the ground. It is the moment that I think will break me. The final goodbye, going underground to his final resting place. I wish, not for the first time, that I could hear his voice again, just one more time. Or that he could impart some of his wisdom, because I know he had a lot more to give. In this moment, I would even settle for him to grab my pinkie finger with his, a small gesture that he would do throughout my life that would let me know that he was with me, every step of the way. Even when I lost my way, became too caught up with work, or had my heart broken from my childhood crush, his pinkie was always there.
I hear people in the crowd, murmuring, sniffing, their clothes rustling as they move around, all of them paying their respects to a man who was a strong, shining star to many. I haven’t looked to see how many people are here, but my father was loved and respected by many, so I know there is a large crowd.
Even though my eyes continue to focus on his coffin, I know many of the men here are in uniform, a sign of respect from his former military comrades who served with him over his years of active duty. Then there are more from his time working behind a desk at the Defense offices when he remained on home soil. My father was a military man through and through. He served in Iran, Afghanistan, and led teams into warzones. He protected the innocent from evil on more than one occasion.
He was a career military man, first deployed when he was only eighteen, and then when he retired from active duty decades later, he remained with the Department of Defense in a non-active capacity. Always leading, protecting, mentoring, helping, and serving his men, his country, and me.
The rain begins to come down harder and more umbrellas go up, but the minister doesn’t falter. His team opens an umbrella above his head, and he continues with the sermon. He speaks at the same pace, recognition that shows a man of my father’s caliber doesn’t deserve rushed words just to get out of the rain.
I know the moment is coming. The three-gun salute. I am not looking forward to it because that means the ceremony is close to the end. After that, the flag will be folded, passed to me, then he is gone, and I am not ready. I am not ready to say goodbye, even though he passed away peacefully at home days ago. Even though I held his hand as he took his last breath, his body ravaged from the cancer that came on so aggressively that we had no time. We had mere months together once we found out his diagnosis. Many of those moments were spent with him in bed, unable to move and in pain, with me by his side every single moment of every day.
As the final goodbye gets closer, I need to move. Nerves, adrenaline, sorrow, and a whole mix of other emotions build up in my body and I can’t stay still any longer. I am sitting in the chairs designated for family in the front row, right next to the coffin, but I can’t sit down for another minute. My mother is still sobbing next to me, with Brian offering his support. I’m the only other family member, even though I know many of the men in uniform standing behind me see him as a father figure themselves.
I steel myself for the movement because I know it will draw attention, but I don’t care, I need to stand. I need to just move away from the chairs and use my legs. I will walk to the side, over just enough that I can stand in front of the crowd to my left. My father deserves the respect of me standing, like all his comrades, for this last moment. Energy is burning through my body as I decide to get up, my limbs shaking, and I can barely breathe.
Oh God. I don’t want to say goodbye. Why did he go? Why did he leave me?
Slowly, I begin to move. My eyes don’t leave his casket. As I do, I know my mother is horrified without even looking at her. I feel eyes on my back, people wondering what I am doing and if I am okay. I give the minister a small sharp nod to let him know that I am fine and to continue, then I take a few steps to my left and stand, hands by my side. I take a deep breath and steel myself. Ready for the guns.
The grass is damp around me, my black patent leather heels sink into the dirt a little. In my elegant black dress and pearls, I stand with the soldiers, who they are, I am not sure, but I stand next to them, ready. My eyes catch a black bird flying overhead, and I hear the trees rustle in the soft breeze, which causes my body to shake a little. My heart is beating out of my chest, because I am not ready to say goodbye.
I really don’t want to say goodbye. Why couldn’t we have had more time?
I nursed my father at home every day for the past few months, not ready to let him go, wanting to spend as much time with him as possible. He was my priority over everything else. My work, my relationships. Everything.
Everything else in my life became a distant second.
Thank God I have an amazing team who held down the fort at work for me while I was absent. Event management is hard, even more so when you run the company and you are the number one event manager in all of D.C. I still worked from the laptop at my dad’s bedside when he slept, which was often toward the end. I certainly have a dream team who helped a lot these past few months, and I know the office is closed today and they are all here to support me.
Although I haven’t seen him, my ex-boyfriend Richard is here, and I nearly roll my eyes at the thought of him.
Richard. What a terrible choice I made to be with him. He is here not out of thought for me, but because he would never miss an opportunity to mingle with the key people in D.C., and some of them are here today. I actually wouldn't put it past my dad to have a bolt of lightning strike him down if he could. Dad didn’t like Richard, not one bit. Not that he ever said anything to me. Nope, dad was keen for me to always make my own choices, and also, my own mistakes.
Richard and I dated for just under a year and separated when dad got sick because Richard couldn’t stand not being made a priority. I hadn’t seen it before, but once dad became ill, Richard became jealous of never having my time. That’s when I really saw the other side of him. The one many people warned me about, but I never saw it firsthand until he wasn’t a priority to me. He became angry, bitter, and not nice to be around. I broke up with him because in the end, I couldn't wait to get him out of my life. Although I haven't seen him in a few months, he has made it quite clear that he isn’t giving up on us and wants me back. Which is never going to happen. What I ever saw in him, I will never know, because after spending so many quiet months at dad’s bedside, I now know what is important in life and it isn’t stroking Richard's ego.
While I took care of dad, my mother’s life went on as normal. She kept up appearances and spent time with Brian, her new love interest. Even though mom and dad are still technically married, I think their love died years ago. Dad knew about Brian, but we didn't talk about it. I am sure dad was embarrassed with her public flirting and philandering, but he never said a thing.
I hear her loud sobbing again, and this time I think I do roll my eyes. Thank God no one is in front of me to notice. Perhaps I need to lighten up on her. I guess everyone is affected differently by grief, and I am sure somewhere in their decades of marriage they did love each other at some point. As she continues to sob, I remain standing, looking straight at the coffin, on edge waiting for the final moments of goodbye. Wishing I still had dad with me and wishing we were anywhere else but here.
At the front, soldiers are moving, and I know that the three-gun salute is about to start. All the men around me stand solid, next to each other in a straight-line formation. Their dress uniforms on, clean as a whistle, their buttons sparkling with the water that now soaks them.
