"Can you call me back?...I'm burying my ex-husband?"

That's what she said, for real.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that's what she did.

Last summer I went to the funeral of someone that had been killed in VietNam and only been returned after years of being in an unmarked grave. There were over 400 motorcycles and many many cages involved in that escort. I've been to several of these funerals and as I've stated before, they are all the same, but all different.

Some, like that one last summer, that are very big and some, well maybe not so big. It has been almost addictive to watch and listen to the honor guards and to taps and to hear those that knew that soldier talking in hushed tones. And to have the honor of being a part of their last ride.

I take a lot from there and I actually give very little. So I take off from work and get to ride my bike. Not much sacrifice there. Sometimes it is hot, cold, rainy, but then I ride in all that anyway.

But this one, yea, this one is different. It was a small family group, couple of friends and us....maybe a dozen Patriot Guard Riders. Due to a military snafu, an acronym created by the military, there would be no honor guard, no taps, no flag folding ceremony. No sharp uniforms with stiff endlessly practiced movements. No quiet commands, soldiers marching on grass. No one meticulously going through the motions of sending this man off with his much deserved military honor. Not even a 21 gun salute.

When that hearse pulled up and they opened that back door, there it was...a cold looking grey box, with the remains of our hero inside. Half a dozen PGR guys jumped and went over to remove the undraped coffin. Then as best they could, they carried him over to his final resting place. Though there was no flag on the coffin, there were acutally more flags waving around that family than there were people. The funeral home director said a few words, had a short prayer and was gone. We pulled the flags and put them back in the truck and were talking among ourselves, as usual. Then one of the boys, who just happened to be a worker at the cemetary took off toward the office. He came running back a couple of minutes later with a box. Out of that box came the flag that hadn't been on the coffin. With the rest of us standing at attention, a 1/2 dozen PGR members gripped that flag against the Oklahoma driving wind and began to fold. Not as easy as it looks, especially in that wind. Once that flag was properly folded, we all turned as one of our guys gently and reverently handed it over. Back to the young man that had run off to get it, the son of our hero, U.S. Army Sgt. Kenneth Burns Hughes II.

It was the best one ever. Never have I been prouder to stand with those folks.

I say "God bless the American soldier" and God bless the PGR. And thanks, for letting me tag along.