The One that got Away~The Last Goodbye part 7

We spent the week after my Dad's death at his home. I made it through the funeral, which should have been a full military service; this he had insisted on. He felt that to be the least due him for his years of service.

I tried, Lord I tried. Seems everyone was in Iraq. I was able to come up with three service men to fold and present the American flag to his widow. It was the flag which had flown over the Pentagon while he served there. He had saved it expressively for this occasion.He was buried in his dress whites and even in death looked quite handsome. Most comforting of all he looked like my Dad, simply sleeping. When my grandmother died, her hair was purple and cheeks flaming pink with rouge. She didn't look like Nanny at all. Quite unnerving.

I tried in vain to arrange a full military service, but with little success.

One of the men had come with a plastic trumpet, complete with a tape of taps hidden in the bell. Hell flew into me! There was no way my father was going to be laid to rest with a cheap recording of taps. This was where I had to draw the line.We had reached the end of the graveside service. I watched the young man fiddling with the toy horn. With no warning I rose from the folding chair, raising the curiosity of fellow mourners. I heard whispers coming from underneath the tent as I left my seat. I left the shade of the funeral home tent with the intention of halting this final insult to my Dad.

Tom had played coronet in the Navy Band, sitting first chair. He would have considered the playing of taps via cassette tape the highest form of disrespect. As I moved, my husband followed, making his way to our truck. More whispers.

At the last moment before we left town, he had stopped by his band hall and grabbed a real trumpet. I quickly explained to the young serviceman my band director husband would be playing taps and he could put his toy horn away. Yes, I was less than gracious and for that I am now sorry. At the time I didn't care.

My husband spent just a few moments warming up, then joined the rest of us, standing just outside the tent. With horn directed way from the mourners, he hit the first note. Long, mournful notes floated out across the country cemetery. The tone rich and comforting, yet dissolving me to tears. My husband's last gift to The Captain. I could all but feel my Dad smiling.

He did not get his 21 gun salute. Again, everyone in Iraq. I thought about rounding up seven rednecks with deer rifles, but that somehow lacked the dignity I felt my father deserved. We gave up on the salute. Don't think I could've stood it anyway.

With the service concluded, everyone began scattering in different directions. My husband and son were already at the truck, waiting on me. I still had one more thing to do; I told them to go on without me. I had my cell phone; I would call when I was ready to go back to the house. He didn't want to leave me, but I insisted.

When the last car was a safe distance from the cemetery, the heavy equipment was fired up. Using chains they lowered his casket down into the grave. Once this was done, the back hoe lifted a huge mound of soil. My arms waving wildly over my head, I attempted to scream over the rumbling machine. The operator killed the engine, confused. "I need a shovel," I explained.

The funeral home director was still on site. He approached me quietly. " Come on now, let me take you home. This same man had buried my grandfather, grandmother, mother and now my father. We went way back. "No Donnie, I'm fine. Please get me a shovel." He shook his head and walked toward the work truck, returning with a shovel. "Go on and get a cup of coffee, give the crew a break. I just need a short while." Donnie shook his head no, indicating he had no intention of leaving me alone. "Fine. Give me some space. No need to be standing right on top of me." He and his crew moved away, returning to the work truck which was a comfortable distance from the grave site. I kicked off my funeral pumps and felt the cool earth under my feet. I shoveled the first load of dirt on to my Dad's casket. Then another. I found a perfect working rhythm, scoop, lift, dump, repeat. I cried and shoveled until I was spent. I felt weak, almost faint but I had stayed true to my word. I had gone the last mile.

I dropped the shovel to the ground and turned toward Donnie. He was by my side within a blink. "That's the last thing I'll ever do for him, Donnie." I could barely stand that thought. " I know, I know. You know he loved you more than anything in this world?" I shook my head yes, unable to imagine my life without him. Donnie again," He was one of the finest men I have ever known. I mean that." " You know he wasn't even my real Dad." Donnie disagreed with me, almost before the words left my lips. " He was your Dad in every way. Now, let's get you home. Your family is bound to be getting worried."