At least not until I’m alone with Jack, Jim, or Johnny, hell, let’s make it a support group. What is the opposite of AA?
It all felt like a nightmare, one I will wake from eventually, right?I have to wake up.My men need me. Ford, Shark. Owen –
*Broken whisper*Owen.
Fuck. This.It’s not fair.Not one bit.
Owen had so much to live for, to fight for, and now – now he’s gone and all who experienced his light and positivity are now cast in a blanket of uncertainty and misery.
We follow the hearse from the church to the small cemetery where Private Owen Victor Jacobs will be laid to rest today at nineteen years young.
My grief for his family is raging inside but my mask is set. There isn’t a visual que giving away an ounce of distress. We Marines stand strong so that others do not have to. I shall let them grieve, allow them to show their vulnerability, and at the same time they will ask God why he took such a bright soul so soon.
The service begins but I can barely recall the words as Sergeant Brett Stark, Shark, myself, and the other pallbearer’s wait to carry our brother one last time.
Ford would’ve been with us today to help bear this heartache; however, he’s recovering from yet another surgery. I’m worried about my gunner and the long road to recovery he has.
I carry the burden of his wounds.
The pain in my back and shoulder at carrying the casket doesn’t compare to the anguish my heart is going through. It will forever be a permanent displacement, shattered, unmendable. I’d endure this pain a thousand times over if I knew it would bring Owen back to us. I know the same can be said for all who were there that day.
My men blame themselves at this outcome.
It was my fault, all my fault. Mine and mine alone.
Tears sting behind my eyes as we set the casket in place.
Keep it together Marine.
The look of confusion on the little girl’s face as she rests in her mother’s arms left megutted. We should be celebrating her first birthday; instead, we are here burying her father six feet under.
Fuck.
It took everything I had to not allow the screams inside my head to make their presence known.
It’s just nightmare. I’ll wake soon, I have to wake up.
WAKE UP ZANDER!
The priest begins his sermon, a fog of words, spoken all too often for our fallen brothers and sisters.
Once finished everyone stands for the rendering of honors.
“Present Arms.” Sargent Stark commands.
We salute.
The rifle bearers give a send-off for our brother, a twenty-one-gun salute, each shot is a direct hit to my heart.
Everyone, say the large sum of Marines, bow their heads and wipe away tears. Still I stand saluted – emotionless, or so it may seem.
Not one of us wanted to be here today.
We didn’t want to hear the words of prayer from the priest, the gunshots ring out one after the other, or the bugle singing the final song of goodbye.
It’s all too soon. Our brother should be here.
“Order Arms.” Salute.