Raindrops fell and dripped from the edge of the tent that covered the gravesite. Family and friends huddled together under umbrellas, the rain mingling with tears that slid from soulful eyes. Words of comfort were spoken, and the sweet fragrances of prayers rose to the throne of heaven.
Seven rifles split the silence with the discharge of three volleys of shots that rang out to honor the Veteran whose body laid in the casket on the funeral bier. The melancholy sound of a bugle call resounded as a man in uniform played taps. Chills ran down my spine while the mournful tones resonated then fell in the heavy Southern air.
With upmost respect and precision, two old soldiers folded the flag that draped the casket. One of them turned on his heels, stepped forward and presented the flag to the family.
The empty shell of a man was lowered in the ground. In that solemn moment amid many emotions and thoughts, one came to the forefront, “He is not there.” He joined the ranks of others gone before him and reunited with loved ones. He answered the bugle call.
With a final salute, the honor guard spun and marched off the grounds as family and friends joined together to celebrate the life of the old soldier.
