I flinch and grab my husband’s hand tighter. A slight breeze blows across my face.

Crack!

I watch the dry, brown leaves of winter rustle on the ground. Somewhere behind me a bird is singing.

Crack!

As the last round fires from the 21-gun salute, Ed and I sit and watch in silence - the seven riflemen stand together in a smart, straight row. The line of solders lower their guns as the bright sun on this cold winter morning glints off their rifles.

Deep emotion over takes us both, especially me, as the tears fall heavy down my cheeks. It has been a long four months of taking care of Lew at the nursing home, watching him die ever so slowly. My heart breaks as I notice it is only my husband and I attending his funeral. He had no one else.

I think of a line from the movie “Forrest Gump” where Forrest asks, “Do we all have a destiny, or are we all just floating around on a breeze accidentally?” I wonder how Lew became so estranged from his only family - so much so that his two sisters made several assorted and varied excuses for why they could not come in from Pennsylvania to attend his funeral. I wondered if it was indeed his destiny to die alone in a nursing home. Just how bad could a disagreement be? From what Ed and I could gather during our short conversations with Lew about his two sisters was that it was because of some religious disagreement. Over the years after Catherine’s death, Lew found solace in his church and in his big old Bible. Every word he read, every verse, every scripture, he would take very literally. He had become a born-again-Christian, and his family were all Catholic, and his two sisters apparently just simply believed. To Lew, this was a sin and it was his credence that because their beliefs were so foreign to his, they would not be “saved” and would not go to heaven. I will never be sure where, when or how Lew came up with that philosophy, but it was his own and he held onto it like a homeless man holds onto a hot cup of coffee on a cold winter’s day.

Ed sits beside me, still and quiet, as the soldiers of the Honor Guard begin performing their soldier duties. Full military honors! How proud Lew would have been. He deserves all the dignity and respect that these young military men are displaying. All of these soldiers standing here today were not even glimmers in their mother’s eyes while Lew was actively defending our country, yet they honor him. He was a proud Veteran, a warrior, and is receiving his final right of passage.

Lew fought for our freedoms. Fought time and time again. First in World War II, honorably discharged; re-enlisting once again during Korea, honorably discharged; and finally, re-enlisting in Viet Nam, honorably discharged. His final fight was during his last days of life, to live them out with dignity and grace. But dying in a nursing home wearing only a hospital gown and a diaper was not his final wish, I am sure.

At the nursing home, Lew was always cold. Ed and I bought him matching sweat pants, socks, sweaters, a jacket for outdoors, and a knit hat. But every day he grew weaker and weaker, not being able to get up and out of bed. All of these clothes remained on hangers in his closet. Lew was grateful though that he finally did have a closet full of clothes because at home his closet contained very little. He told us he never really quite learned what to shop for, and he owned only two pair of blue work pants, stained with assorted fluids from his many car repairs he did for his neighbors. He also owned one pair of brown slacks and one white shirt he kept for his church clothes. Lew lived very simply after Ed’s mother, Catherine, had died. He bought a small house in a neighborhood that most considered being dangerous. But to Lew, Sky Harbor Subdivision was a place he could share the word of the Lord to more souls who, he felt, really needed it. And he was the kind of neighbor that every winter, if someone needed a coat, he would readily give away the one that his church had given him the previous year. That was just the kind of guy Lew was - never putting himself first, and always thinking of how to serve others in the name of God.

Lew’s funeral ceremony was over in 12 minutes. From start to finish. Ed and I sat in bewilderment - 12 short minutes to bestow an honor on a fallen soldier who had readily served his country in all those times of war, every time his country called him. Lew deserved so much more from his United States, but I guess that 12 minutes is the standard allotted time set by the U.S. government for a military funeral at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery.

Lew and Ed first met some 30 years ago in the late 70’s, when Lew became the constant companion to Ed’s mother, Catherine. Catherine had lost Ed’s father to some mysterious disease of the time. During his long suffering in the hospital, it was Lew who had come around as a friend, offering comfort and prayer to Catherine and to young Ed. Both Lew and Catherine were casualties of life on life’s terms, and it was a strange act of fate that had brought them together.

In was during World War II that Lew met and eventually married a woman from Germany. What he thought was love had only been a marriage of convenience to this woman, as she had only married him to gain U.S. citizenship. He brought her home to the United States, where she revealed that she was only using him to get her family over from Germany. She soon left him and his heart was splintered for a very long time. Lew became bitter and lived alone in anger, until he found comfort in his church and in his Bible. That big old Bible never left his side and was his sole and constant companion until the very end. Ed and I buried Lew with that big old Bible.

Lew and Catherine lived as companions together, never sharing a bed, but did share in each other’s sadness. Oh, he tried to share with her the joy of God’s love, but Catherine had been left so heart broken from Ed’s father’s early death, that she became caustic and dark. She blamed God for all that had gone so very wrong in her life.

The day Catherine got sick just about killed Lew. He called to tell us Catherine was not feeling “right” and that an ambulance had taken her to the emergency room. It was there that the doctors found the cancer. It had started in her liver and had already spread through much of her tiny, frail old body. Ed and I eventually agreed to put her in a nursing home, where she lived to see only one more birthday, and shortly after she turned 75, her tiny, feeble body finally gave out. Catherine was buried on a cold, overcast, day in February. Ed thinks she died angry at the world for dealing her a shitty hand.

Lew was so devastated by her death, thinking that his long time friend and companion had died not knowing the joy of God’s love. Lew aged about 20 years that day. He called us the day of her memorial service, saying he could not bring himself to attend her funeral. And very soon thereafter, Ed and I pretty much adopted Lew. He had no one else to care for him, and he needed someone, and we were that someone.

Lew never had any children that we know of. During his months at the nursing home, he would never answer any of my gentle questions to him as I tried to find out whom we should contact. Ed and I only knew that he worked daily, doing odd jobs for his neighbors and for his church. He remained active, but never made friends with too many people. Lew did not trust easily. My husband and I were the only two people that he would confide with.

We still do not know how he fell that day. Only that it was on a Friday in October, and that he suffered a severe heart attack. Luckily, his neighbor, Mona, had noticed Lew had not come out from his house all day, and the next morning went to check on him. According to her, apparently he had laid on the floor for a day and a half before she found him. Thankfully, she found our telephone number written on his In-Case-of-Emergency-Please-Contact card.

I remember that it was in October, because the few times Ed and I get to go on vacation is in October when the weather is changing and the leaves of Autumn are erupting in the hill country. We returned home that Sunday and had 15 messages on our answering machine from Mona. We called her and she told us Lew had been admitted into Wilford Hall Military Hospital.

It was the military hospital doctors who told us that Lew had not only suffered a heart attack, but had broken his hip as well in the fall. We finally found Lew after traversing a maze of military hospital hallways, and found him sitting in his military hospital room, in a military hospital chair next to his military hospital bed, wearing a military hospital robe that the military hospital nurses had dressed him in. Lew looked so old and frail sitting there - very different from all the other times I had seen him. But he was really glad to see us and kept asking us where we had been for so long. Ed and I both knew that his mind had started to go, as the military hospital dementia was setting in.

Over the next few days, we agreed to handle all of his affairs, and to become his Power-of-Attorney. Ed and I began the arduous process of dealing with the bureaucracy of this country. We learned that even retired military are left behind if there is no family to care for them. The “system” seemed to be completely uncaring and void of compassion. I wondered that if Lew did not have us, would he become like the weathered old man I see every afternoon on Wurzbach Road, holding up his cardboard sign that reads, “Homeless Veteran in need of your help.” Somehow Ed and I were going to find the help Lew deserved.

Lew had no insurance and only a little bit of Army retirement, so Ed and I began the task of having him qualified for Medicaid. But Ed and I loved him enough and continued to fight the uphill battle of paperwork and bureaucracy to find place for Lew to heal - for Lew to live out his last few days. We tried and tried again, and finally succeeded, but once again, Lew was dealt a really shitty hand!

He never returned home. Home to his small, wooden house, with bare walls and no television. Home to his windows with no curtains. Home to his one small bed and one small table. Lew did not have much, but he had that big old Bible, which was marked up with page after page of scripture, underlined and highlighted, page after page crimped and well worn. And he had his big old heart filled with God’s love, always ready to share with anyone who would listen! But because his heart had given out, and because he had no insurance and no savings, Lew ironically ended up at living at a nursing home, like his beloved Catherine.

Lew shared a room at the nursing home with Mr. Fuhrman. Mr. Fuhrman never talked much, but what I learned about him was that he was over 100 years of age. I knew so because one of the few things he had hanging on his wall on his side of the room was a framed letter from the Governor of Texas acknowledging his age, praising him for this great accomplishment! The last day we saw Lew alive, we walked in and Mr. Fuhrman was just sitting quietly beside Lew’s bed, staring at him. I wonder if old people living so close together just know when they are going to die, and when to tell each goodbye. It was the very next day, ironically the day Ed and I finally had Lew qualified for Medicaid, that Sweet Old Lew died.

Ed and I got the call at 7:00 on a Sunday morning. The hospice nurse who had stayed with Lew up until the end said he died in his sleep and that he had died peacefully. I wondered if all hospice nurses are told they have to say that, or if they just make it up. Is there some way of actually knowing for certain that anyone dies peacefully? But Ed and I thanked her, and even though we both were sad, we were also relieved because we knew that Lew and Catherine were once again together, up in heaven.

Ed and I arrived at the nursing home a few hours later to clean out his room. We packed up all of his sweat pants, his coat, his knit hat, which all fit into only one large plastic bag and donated it all to charity. That is one wish Lew did share with us that anything he had was to be given away to those in need. At his house, we donated his one bed, his one table and his one chair, along with his few items of clothing in his one closet.

I realized at that moment, that during these past few months of caring for Lew just how lucky I am! Lucky to have a close knit, loving family. Lucky to have the opportunity to continue my college education. Lucky to have a great part-time job. Lucky that I have insurance! With all of the choices afforded us in this country of ours, we have many freedoms and opportunities. It is my prayer that after graduating from college, I am rewarded with a fulfilling career, eventually retiring in some type of comfort, and never having to live on Social Security or Medicaid. I am sad for Lew that he did not make very good choices for himself during his life. The Honor Guard continue performing the most noble, solemn ceremony bestowed on one of their own - this fallen soldier. Immediately after the 21-gun salute, one lone soldier raises his bugle to his lips and the haunting sound of Taps begins. My heart swells with pride for my country, and once again, the tears come easily in my already swollen eyes. Ed and I stand and place our hands over our hearts to salute the American flag that is draped carefully over Lew’s simple casket.

I wonder if the same feeling of pride for our country is felt by anyone younger than me? I have only read about Korea and barely remember Viet Nam, and today, it is the war in Iraq. But no matter how many military funerals I have been to, it never fails that this strong pride and emotion overtake me - before, during and after.

Lew’s requiem reaches its finale as the Honor Guard carefully lifts the draped flag from his casket. They slowing begin folding it, and my mind wanders a bit as I watch the two soldiers. Their white-gloved hands hypnotize me, as they move in a slow, steady unison.

Fold

Flip

Check

Fold

Flip

Check

The corners are tucked in.

The fabric is smoothed.

And finally, the perfectly folded flag, with sharp, creased edges, forms an impeccable triangle. I come back from my daze to the sound of bells and wonder for a moment where they are coming from. I realize it is only the soldiers’ medals of honor, tinkling on their chests. The 12-minute ceremony ends with the flag being presented to Ed. The Captain of the Honor Guard speaks in a low, courteous, dutiful tone, and tells Ed, “In honor of your deceased family member, a war hero and veteran, I present you with this flag. And please accept our condolences on behalf of the United States Army.”

Ed remains quiet and still, and I put my arm around him. We both breathe a sigh of relief. We hate funerals. Especially on a clear, bright sunny day such as this. On Lew’s headstone it reads, “There the weary be at rest.” It seems appropriate. I walk past the closed casket, and softly touch the hard, cold, black fiberglass. I stop, bend down, and whisper a final farewell to Sweet Old Lew. “God bless you, old friend.” And knew he would fight no more.