Tissue worthy

A friend sent this to me in an email. It touched me, brought tears to my eyes! Support your troops! Thank them for all they do, give up, and for their bravery.

ESCORT DUTY

I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's for a few
cold ones. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655. 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 snail's 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 couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly
bitter taste: "She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier my
hip hurts like hell and I'm 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 the
last half of happy hour at Smokey's.

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 30 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 woman's squint.

"Ma'am 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 Ma'am." Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.

She looked again. "Marine, where were you stationed?"

" Vietnam , Ma'am. Ground-pounder, '69 to '71."

She looked at me closer. "Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine.
I'll be as quick as I can."

I lied a little bigger, "No hurry, Ma'am."

She smiled, and winked at me. "Son, I'm 85-years old and I can tell a lie
from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do
this. My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd 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 bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured
something I couldn't 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, "Two more, son, and we'll be done."

I almost didn't say anything, but, "Yes, Ma'am. Take your time."

She looked confused. "Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have
lost my way."

I pointed with my chin. "That way, Ma'am."

"Oh!" she chuckled quietly. "Son, me and old age ain't too friendly."

She headed down the walk I'd 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 couldn't make out. "OK,
son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home."

"Yes, Ma'am."

If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?"

She paused. "Yes, Donald Davidson was my father; Stephen was 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 couldn't finish, I don't 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 I've 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.
We beat her. She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.

"Kevin, stand to attention next to the gate post. 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 gunny's 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. 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." Let's 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."

This was also sent to me from my friend Jackie. You must go check this out.

If I die before you wake...


Remember "Freedom isn't free"