Goodbye, My Friend

On Tuesday I watched my dear friend Mark E. Stratton make his final trip up I-95 to Arlington Naional Cemetary. It was somewhat symbolic that Mark would travel the same road he traveled for several years from Stafford to Arlington. This time he had a police escort as they shut the interstate down. We proceeded North past the Pentagon, just fifteen cars on the HOV Lane. It was a range of emotions from pride in the American fighting spirit as I watched the honor guard march in front of the caissone while a military jet flew over with a sharp wing flap to watching a seven year old girl sob as she hugged a wooden casket. The early rain cleared up to see the herse stop near the Caisson so that the body bearers could place him on the black horse drawn carriage. The crowd of about 300 made up of every branch of the military followed the procession to Section 60 (the Iraq and Afghanistan Section). It was a sad day as I said goodbye to good friend. When our house burnt to the ground Mark, from Afghanistan, called to instruct me to go to his closest to get a few suits - he joked that he would not be needing them anytime soon. He told me "what's mine is yours my brother." I miss my friend.