My friend, Fred, was one of them. I stood alongside members of Fred’s family and friends to honor my friend for the last time. He was a neighbor, church companion, daredevil driver, enthusiastic gardener, and a wonderful dad and husband. He lived right up the street from me; he and his lovely wife, Ruth, drove past me countless times each week. If they could see my car in the driveway, they’d invariably stop by to “visit,” as they say in the South.
In Church, Ruth would often sit behind me, and Fred, in his self-appointed role of photographer-in-chief, would busy himself snapping photos of anyone who came into his view. They were loved and respected by everyone. While Fred had so much to be proud of, he spoke most enthusiastically about an “Honor” flight that he and other veterans took to Washington, DC. The flight and all expenses are paid by a local merchant; the group flies round-trip to DC on a chartered plane; they are met by volunteers who take them on extended guided tours of the military monuments and sites in Washington.
He simply could not stop talking about the trip and what it meant to the group, and to him personally. I happened to be at the airport here when one of the flights was boarding for a trip (not Fred’s). Before boarding, the veterans were like children on their first outing; they were so excited they couldn’t sit still. When the plane taxied out for take-off, two airport fire trucks came alongside, giving it a gigantic 2-barrel water cannon send-off. It was a beautiful sight; everyone around me and I cheered as loud as possible for them. Fred, I miss you; I am so proud to have been a part of your final ceremony.
Are we there yet? 