The skies were dark and gloomy as I rode up to the gathering site for the funeral of this young soldier. Unlike the previous day, there were no crowds lining the streets of the small towns on Hwy 6. There was just business as usual as time did as time does, marching steadily forward.
The gathering of PGR riders was smaller, perhaps from the inclement weather, perhaps from the fatigue of the prior day's escort, perhaps from the sheer exhaustion that comes with tears, both tears of grief and of joy.
But smaller doesn't mean insignificant. There were 18 flag bikes and 50 or so non-flags, three trikes and a host of PGR members in cages. Easily over 100 ordinary, everyday Americans took time from their lives to honor the life cut short, a promising life, a life that was fully lived in only 26 years on this earth. Men and women of all colors, all faiths, all creeds with a single common purpose.
The PGR coordinators did a superb job for this mission. We staged at Coles Antique Village & Flea Market on Hwy 35. The owner, Bob Lewis, had arranged for restroom facilities for us and provided very tasty barbecue sandwiches for the entire group. It's awesome to see these types of contributions in honor of our military.
As we made the short trip to the funeral home, the skies held their tears within the dark clouds. People stopped and stared at the procession of loud pipes and American flags thundering down the road.
Our flag lines were set so that each and every person that attended the funeral walked through them. These displays immediately set the mood and cause people to truly reflect, perhaps for the first time, on why they were there. Not for a man that died of disease, accident, or at the end of a long life. They were there to honor a man that gave his life for our freedom.
The funeral home was overflowing with attendees, entire families spilling out into the hallways. After the funeral started, we took a break and waited for the military honors ceremony. The funeral itself lasted about two hours. When the time came for the military to honor this young man, we gathered our lines again and formed a U around a tent set up in the parking lot for the family.
The honor guard then carried 1st Lt. Timothy Cunningham from the chapel to the tent as members stood in salute, military with the slow draw to the cap, non-military with hands held over their hearts.
As always, we left a break in the line so that the family had an unobstructed view of the 21 gun salute and the bugler as he played the long, slow, mournful notes of Taps. Flags, medals and plaques were presented to the family as a lasting reminder of both their loss and the reason for it.
If there is any one memory that I will take from this funeral, it was the moment when the clouds could no longer hold their tears. As the bugler played the last note. the clouds let loose and the heavens cried. During this drenching, no one ran, no one sought shelter. The PGR stood silently, flags popping, raindrops joining the tears streaming down our faces.
One other group didn't move either. A group of men, I think the Singing Men of Texas, were fully exposed in the elements in full dress suits. They too stood silently, the tears of heaven soaking their song sheets, touching their hearts.
After the heavens cried, these men moved up and sang a final song of farewell. It was truly touching.
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PGR
