Years ago, when I was in the seventh grade, my grandfather passed away. I don't clearly remember the service in the funeral home, only to say that there were a lot of people there. What I do remember clearly are specific parts of the graveside service. I remember seeing the USAF Honor Guard, hearing the crispness of their 21 gun salute, and listening to the bugler playing Taps.
I am 34 now, almost 35, and to hear Taps played instantly brings emotion out. Tears well in the eyes, and my heart beats just a little bit faster.
Today was a beautiful day. The air was clear. The sky was a perfect blue with only the slightest wisp of white cloud. The sun warmed the chill of the morning. It was the perfect Autumn day.
This afternoon, Taps filled the silence of the graveside once again. Taps called Chris to rest, to sleep until the call comes to wake once again, just as it has many a man or woman that answers the call of service to their country or community.
The solemn notes flowed from the bugle, and through every one of us. I was instantly reminded of the times I have heard the notes before, and just how often they are played. No matter how often I hear them, the effect will be the same. There will be pain, as there is a finality of those notes and phrases to me. There will also be hope and relief, as I know that those for whom the notes are played are resting deservedly.
As much hope as the familiar notes provide, I hope that it will be some time before I hear them again.
I am 34 now, almost 35, and to hear Taps played instantly brings emotion out. Tears well in the eyes, and my heart beats just a little bit faster.
Today was a beautiful day. The air was clear. The sky was a perfect blue with only the slightest wisp of white cloud. The sun warmed the chill of the morning. It was the perfect Autumn day.
This afternoon, Taps filled the silence of the graveside once again. Taps called Chris to rest, to sleep until the call comes to wake once again, just as it has many a man or woman that answers the call of service to their country or community.
The solemn notes flowed from the bugle, and through every one of us. I was instantly reminded of the times I have heard the notes before, and just how often they are played. No matter how often I hear them, the effect will be the same. There will be pain, as there is a finality of those notes and phrases to me. There will also be hope and relief, as I know that those for whom the notes are played are resting deservedly.
As much hope as the familiar notes provide, I hope that it will be some time before I hear them again.
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