I prepared for the ceremony with obsessive care. The flair on my chest — Bronze Star Medal, Combat Infantryman Badge, Ranger Tab, captain’s insignia — was measured to the micron. We all waited at McClellan Circle: the band, the firing party, the escort platoon, the body bearers, the chaplain, the horse-drawn caisson, its six white horses and me, the officer in charge. We marched, in slow cadence, to Tyler's grave.
The chaplain stepped back, and I stepped forward to render the final honors. I saluted Tyler’s remains while the firing party fired the 21-gun salute and the bugle played a sorrowful taps. The flag, folded into a tight triangle, was passed down to me.I presented the folded flag to Tyler’s crying mother, looking her directly in the eyes while offering my condolences.
As Tyler’s family held each other, moving slowly to the black cars, I finally let the enormity of the Tyler-sized hole in the universe to sink in. It hadn't gotten any smaller in the two years since it had been created.But there next to Tyler’s grave were other freshly dug graves that did not yet contain their occupants — and beyond that, undisturbed earth, with more space for more graves.
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