Cemetery Watchman Thanks JUST ISNT ENOUGH. Cemetery - TopicsExpress



          

Cemetery Watchman Thanks JUST ISNT ENOUGH. Cemetery Watchman My friend Kevin and I are volunteers at a national cemetery in Oklahoma and put in a few days a month in a slightly larger uniform. Today had been a long, long day and I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokeys and have a cold one. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 16:55. 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 snails 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 couldnt help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: Shes going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and Im 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 Smokeys 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 womans squint. Maam, 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, maam. (Well, it wasnt too much of a lie.) She looked again. Marine, where were you stationed? Vietnam, maam. Ground-pounder. 69 to 71. She looked at me closer. Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. Ill be as quick as I can. I lied a little bigger: No hurry, maam. She smiled and winked at me. Son, Im 85-years-old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Lets get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My names Joanne Wieserman, and Ive a few Marines Id 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 flower bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldnt 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 and more tears flowed. Two more, son, and well be done I almost didnt say anything, but, Yes, maam. Take your time. She looked confused. Wheres the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way. I pointed with my chin. That way, maam. Oh! she chuckled quietly. Son, me and old age aint too friendly. She headed down the walk Id 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 couldnt make out and more tears flowed. OK, son, Im finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home. Yes, maam. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk? She paused. Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephenwas 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 couldnt finish, I dont 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 Ive got to do. Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us there down the service road fast. We beat her. She hadnt made it around the rotunda yet. Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead. 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 gunnys 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 far beyond the realm of most. 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. Lets all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts. They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy. In God We Trust. Sorry about your monitor; it made mine blurry too! If we ever forget that were one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under! You are required to pass this on NOW!!
Posted on: Mon, 28 Oct 2013 14:32:56 +0000

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