I listen as the guns salute and the trumpets play their final send-off to a woman who fought damn hard and made our team whole. A woman that fought until the very end. A woman who gave her life for her team. For her country. For me.
I donât shed a tear; I donât scream out the anger and grief thatâs consuming me. Instead, I stand, saluting with the other brothers and sisters who are here to honor her. I stand with her family and friends. I ignored the doctorâs orders that I needed to rest and heal and I helped carry her into the church and into this cemetery.
Fuck that. I did the same for every one of my team members, and I wasnât about to miss Samâs. She would be pissed if I did. Sheâd be laughing at the pomp and ceremony because she hated it, but she would understand. Understand that itâs not really for her, itâs for everyone else, everyone who needs closure. So, Iâm here. And Iâll stay here until everyone leaves.
I glance over at her parents, who treated our entire team like family when we visited each time we were stateside. Most of us didnât have that, and we soaked it up like a sponge. Now, their eyes are red rimmed, clinging to each other. Samâs brother stands beside them, face lined with grief and eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. He and Sam werenât crazy close, but they were family.
I was sure they would hate me when I came home. That they would blame me for not saving her. I blamed myself, so why shouldnât they? Instead, they had come to my hospital bed where I was still being treated for exhaustion, dehydration, and a whole slew of other things, and hugged me. They thanked me for trying to save her, for trying to save them all. Told me they loved me and that they were happy I was alive.
It was a gut punch to know the good in these people knew no bounds.
I want to say it assuaged my guilt, but it didnât. It hurts even more. Still, now, there is nowhere I would rather be, even as it cuts me to pieces.
Not even as they lower her into the ground, and we say our last goodbye.