Sadness in December

The Editors,

Mojo is a sensitive soul. This time of the year he picks up on my sadness. He has heard the story many times before, but being the good friend that he is, he is always ready to hear it again.

Some 44 years ago now I was a young infantry officer about to leave active duty. After coming back from overseas, I trained troops at Ft. Jackson in Columbia. When my time was short, I was pulled out of my command and given odd jobs as papers were processed. My separation date was January 1.

The last thing I did was to be the escort officer for a young officer who had died in Viet Nam. I was to accompany his body home to Chester, S.C. When someone dies on active duty his or her body is accompanied by a companion of equal rank. The escort manages the military details of burial and is always present whenever the public has access to the body.

I flew to Dover Air Force Base, Delaware, the port of entry for all those in the military who die overseas. The plane was met on the tarmac and I took possession of the flag-draped casket. My companion and I took a train to Chester.

The funeral home was old fashioned. The family lived on the second floor. Viewing parlors were on the first floor. Preparation rooms were in the basement.

Soon, I got to know many of the citizens of Chester as they came by to pay their respects. Through them I got to know my companion. Teachers, preachers, friends and in particular family told story after story. My friend began to take on a personality. I found myself having conversations with him when no one was around.

The walk back to the motel was strange. Chester was bedecked in Christmas lights. But I didn't feel like celebrating.

After the funeral, my friend and I got back on the train for the long journey to Arlington for burial.

The twenty-one-gun salute was fired. Taps was played. A carefully folded flag was presented to his parents. They went back to Chester. I returned to Ft. Jackson to sign my papers and begin a new chapter in my life.

Each December about this time an incredible sadness comes over me as I remember. So many chapters have been written in my book of life and my friend's ended on that Virginia hillside. My hunch is that I'm not alone in my sadness. December can be tough when what we feel inside doesn't match up with the gaiety we see around us. December can be about grieving.

This year I also feel sadness for our nation. I read somewhere that fewer and fewer members of Congress (the body that declares war) have had military experience. I wonder if the pronouncements and decisions they make about sending troops here and there would be different if they had had the opportunity to present a flag to grieving parents.

Mojo has his head in my lap. He understands.

The Rev. Dr. Jim Watkins

and Mojo

Pawleys Island