Family Ties

“By the way, Dad,” I said over the seat once we crested the ridge, “this is my girlfriend, Christy. Christy, this is my dad, David. I don’t think I introduced you earlier.”

“You didn’t,” Mom said.

Christy actually cut her off with a gesture. She wasn’t rude about it, but Erin got the message.

“Nice to meet you, Christy,” my dad said over the seat. “Sorry to rush you this morning, but…”

“My fault,” I repeated.

“Nice to meet you too, David. My dad says he thinks he knows you. I’m supposed to ask you a bunch of questions about Vietnam.

What squadron, what ship, what year? That sort of thing.”

“We don’t talk about Vietnam,” my mom said.

Erin and I looked at each other. We’d never heard her use that tone before.

“I can’t remember that far back,” my dad joked to lighten the mood.

“It was a long time ago for all of us,” Susan said.

“Right,” Mom agreed. She and Susan shared a look.

Erin and I did the same. Again.

“Let’s change the subject,” Mom said.

“No problem,” I said. “So, Dad… tell me about the new plane.

”

“Ah, right. It’s a sweet little ’72 Beech Baron. One of the guys at work…”

We buried Master Gunnery Sergeant Jeremiah John Kershaw with full military honors in the local cemetery on his family plot, alongside his parents and a baby sister. The day was crisp and achingly beautiful, with feathery cirrus clouds under the high blue vault of the heavens. The air rang with the sound of gunfire as the Marine Corps rifle squad fired three volleys and then the bugler played “Taps.

”

I didn’t know if Christy was crying for her brother or Gunny, but it didn’t really matter. I put my arm around her and barely held back my own tears, although I would’ve been in good company if I hadn’t. Afterward the honor

guard folded the American flag with military precision and presented it to Gunny’s widow on behalf of a grateful nation.

We lingered at the gravesite and talked about the service. Then we drove to the local VFW, where the ladies of Lenore’s church served lunch.

I felt embarrassed that I knew so little of Gunny’s life, although I heard plenty of stories over the next couple of hours. He was a remarkable man, a real character, and I wasn’t likely to meet anyone like him again.

We left the luncheon in a thoughtful but upbeat mood. We’d said goodbye to our friend, but we knew he wouldn’t want us to mourn forever.

Still, I couldn’t help but think about his loss and what it would mean to Susan.