The Conservative Son

This is another one of those stories that I don’t share with just anybody. If you care to go with me on this, another emotionally fraught journey, you are welcome to tag along.




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One regret I have from my trip to D.C. is, although I spent better than two days in Arlington Cemetery, I never once saw a funeral. I know that they were taking place. There are upwards of sixty a day, to my understanding. Although I saw the Lee mansion flag at half-mast repeatedly, I never actually observed a funeral procession. The closest I came was what took place while I was looking for the grave of Lance Corporal Patrick Nixon, USMC.



LCP Nixon was the first Tennessean to die under fire in the war on terror. He was killed in action at a bridge on the outskirts of An Nasiriyah in Iraq. He gained a certain amount of fame when Trace Atkins released the video version of his hit song "Arlington." In the video, you not only see the gravestone for Corporal Nixon, but the image of his face billowing in the background.



I visited many graves while in Arlington: Halsey, Marshall, the Unknowns, Audie Murphy, "Black Jack” Pershing, "Pappy" Boyington, Jimmy Dolittle, Todd Lincoln and others. Each was a thrill. Each was humbling. Yet, Corporal Nixon’s was the hardest to locate.



My information on his internment was scanty, at best. Still, I searched arduously with my family over several acres of markers in the vicinity where I thought he was buried. Yet, to no avail. I seriously considered giving up the search, but realized that I would regret it if I didn't persevere.



I pondered leaving my family there while I rushed back to the reception center. I had taken note of a computer in the museum designed specifically for doing grave searches. It was a blistering hot day and my family didn't really seem too keen on the suggestion of being marooned in the hot sun while I hurried off for who knows how long. I can't say that I blame them for that. So, I decided to take them back to where they could wait in an air-conditioned building and then I could continue my quest. There I searched the listings, quickly discovering the coordinates for LCP Nixon’s place of burial. I assured my wife and child that I would hurry every chance I got and rushed at near double-time in pursuit of my objective.



I finally arrived in the correct section and began to count off rows of stones. Presently, I found LCP Nixon. I had hopes of conferring some small amount of honor that a feeble man such as myself could. I stood there, looking down at this young man’s final resting place, thinking about his sacrifice, that of so many others in our nation's past, those of today and those who will suffer loss in the future.



Though I had been concentrating intensely on my search, I noticed some very clean-cut young men, grouped together not many rows over. They seemed to be, like myself, searching for someone among the markers. I didn't want to be nosey or disturb them, but I found myself drawn to them and persistently kept turning my eyes in their direction. I must say, when it dawned on me that they were nothing less than military men dressed in civvies, I was taken aback. I didn't want to bother them, so I only observed from a distance while they talked among themselves and walked among the stones.



After a short while, they departed the premises. As I recall, cars were waiting for them, which they gathered into, disappearing down the avenue.



Curiosity got the better of me, so, I meandered over to the place where the servicemen had been wandering. Here I discovered several unfinished graves. Lose dirt covered many of them and it was obvious that the grounds crew had some work yet to do. One was even covered by a slab in preparation, I suppose, for an ensuing graveside ceremony.



To say the least, I was enthralled and mesmerized by what I chanced upon there. Yet, my astonishment was to grow in a way I could not have anticipated.



I walked along, reading the names and dates on several gravestones, when I raised my eyes and was dumbfounded to see line after line of graves of so many who were killed in action in the war on terror. I found myself surrounded by the dead of battle in Iraq and Afghanistan. I myself was buried, so to speak, deep among the honored dead.



I stood with my mouth open reading the names of soldiers, sailors and marines surrounding me who had given the "last full measure of devotion." Name after name, after name, after name, after name, after name, after name! I was astonished, perplexed, mortified and broken. It appeared to me as a sea of stones rolling in like a tide.



Then, for some reason, it occurred to me that I should call my wife and let her know that I had made it safely to my destination. Perhaps, I wished to share with her and my child what I was seeing there. I heard her answer her cell phone, but suddenly found myself barely able to speak. I stood there among those brave souls, completely overwhelmed with the gravity and emotion of it all. I began to choke up and tried to spit out a few words in my weak attempt to tell her what I was witnessing. I think the only halfway coherent sentence that came out of me was, "There are just so many!" Then, of course, I broke down and boo-hood. Yes, I found myself crying a lot in D.C.



I made my way slowly through their ranks, taking time to have one last long look across this army of fallen heroes. My desire to tarry among these brave immortals there was not one that swiftly passed.



I soon returned to my family where they, of course, greeted this weepy old man with hugs and kisses and “I love you”s. The awe I felt at the gravesite was fresh in my mind and heart. Curious thing about it, years later, that sentiment is with me still.

Labels: Arlington National Cemetery, funerals, Marines, Patrick Nixon, Tennessee