Honor Guards

     I have heard the term "Honor Guard" before and I understand it's definition, but today I learned what that term really MEANS. I was asked to sing "America the Beautiful" at the funeral of a fallen soldier. I was told it would be a funeral with full military honors, including at least one General and probably the Governor. I was truly honored to do my little part to honor someone who "gave all." I was nervous and more than a little apprehensive as I got in my car to drive over to practice with the sweet lady who was to play the piano for me. Little did I realize just how many wonderful experiences and lessons awaited me in the hours ahead.
     As I entered the neighborhood where this lady lived, I realized that this was also where the fallen soldier's family lived. It was at once easy to pick out their house. It seems that the Boy Scouts from her ward were on the ball. The yard of this family was covered with probably 40 flying American flags. It's hard to not be moved by a sight like that. To be honest, it was those powerful feeling of gratitude and such that were worrying me most. I'm a very emotional person as anyone who knows me can attest, and I really wanted to do a good job. Not for me, but for this brave soldier and his family. The next neat little experience came as I entered the home of this wonderful lady who was to accompany me. In walked this little woman who was probably in her 70s. As I shook hands with her I was amazed at those hands. They were very arthritic and so soft. We walked over to her piano and I expected her to pull out some great arrangement, but that's not what happened. She said "tenor right?" and I said yes. She said let's start in "C" and see how that works. Those soft little arthritic hands then began to play a beautiful intro without a single piece of music. I went through the first verse and it sounded very good. She suggested we try another key as well to see if that was even better. After maybe 10 minutes we had put a nice little arrangement together.
     I then drove to the church where the funeral was going to be held. As I entered the chapel, I noticed all the flowers and such that accompany a funeral, but there, at a table at the front, were three Meritorious Service Medals, three Purple Heart Medals, and three Bronze Star Medals. As the people started to arrive there were the usual compliment of suits and dresses, but there were also a good number of men and women in dress uniforms. Then the first Honor Guard arrived. A loud roar could be heard from outside as someone entered the building. I went out to see what it was. The parking lot was filling with motorcycle riders. The Freedom Riders had arrived. These men and women weren't dressed like the other people arriving. These man and women were in sleeveless leather and denim vests, dew rags, sun glasses, leather chaps, and other riding gear. I'm sure that in most cases, the people walking into the church would normally have avoided people dressed as the Riders were. After all, people that are different from us usually make us uncomfortable. These men and women began to take flags off their bikes, or unpack them from small trailers. They surrounded the building. Every entrance was a pathway of denim, leather, and red, white and blue.  These men and women stood (some even using walkers) as honor guard to lead others to pay their respect.  No one that walked into that meeting house from that moment on ever touched an outside door. There was an "honor guard" to open every door whether you were entering or exiting. It was a truly moving sight. Only two or three of the Riders actually entered the building. That's not what they were there for. They were honoring this young man in their own way. They all stayed outside in the 90+ degree heat while the funeral was being held.
     As the medals were handed to this soldier's parents and brother, each current and former soldier in the building stood at attention to honor their comrade in arms. When the Brigadier General in attendance got up to say his words he addressed himself as simple a soldier as he honored the fallen.  Over the next hour or so, military words, Mormon testimonies, and family memories joined to pay honor in their own ways.  My turn came half way through the service. A calm came over me and stood and honored him in a way I can. I've learned over the years of singing in different situations such as this, not to look at certain people so I kept my eyes roaming. Never letting them fall long enough to register emotions on faces. If I do that, I can suppress the emotions trying to break through. When I finished, I sat down and the Governor (who was sitting behind me) put his hand on my shoulder and just gave a little squeeze to say well done. Then as the funeral ended and the casket of this brave young man was taken out, the Freedom Riders were already at the exit standing, flags held, again creating a living walkway of honor. I stood at my car waiting for the funeral procession to get underway. When the hearse and limo began to move, the thunderous roar came to life again as motorcycles of all shapes and sizes roared to life almost as one. As we left the parking lot, the next Honor Guard appeared. As we drove through the neighborhood toward the cemetery, there were people standing at their front doors with heads bowed and some with hands over their hearts. Moms and dads standing with their children like they were almost watching a parade. There weren't a lot of them, but I made a point to notice every one. Did they know the young man? Maybe. Maybe not. But I think they knew what was going on and this was THEIR way of paying honor.
     At the cemetery, there were even more uniforms. Not only military uniforms, but police from different agencies standing at attention. Again, the denim and leather wall appeared. This time, in honor of his birth country, people held not only American flags, but Brazilian flags as well. There were gunmen standing in the distance ready to salute one of their own, and a solitary buglest on the hill ready to play a final farewell. The next honor guard were the soldiers bringing the casket to it's final resting place. The only word I can think of to truly do them justice is majestic. They stood holding that flag which was draped over the casket with a respect I have seldom seen. The grave was dedicated and they stood. The guns fired and they stood. TAPS was blown and they stood. The precious flag was then folded and and held close to the heart of one soldier, then given to the General. He then took the flag over and handed the flag and offered a salute to people who outranked even him. A mom and a dad.
     As the graveside service began to break up I saw one more "honor guard." Throughout the whole thing the members of the Freedom Riders had kept a respectful distance, but now one approached the casket. He stood a few inches from the casket and reached out a trembling hand. He finally placed his hand on the casket and bowed his head and said something only he, God, and maybe the soldier being honored there today, heard. He then walked away without another word.
     I tried to take in as much as I humanly could. You could not have been there and not been touched by the respect and honor paid to this hero, soldier, friend, brother, and son, by the many, many Honor Guards that surrounded him on this summer day. Rest in peace and thank you for giving what many never will.