Cemetery Watchman

My Dad sent me this and I wanted to share it with ya'll - Decaff

I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's.

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, a '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 slowly 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 it to Smokey's in

time.

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 thirty 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 flowers 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: France1918.

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 at attention next to the gatepost. 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.