We stood in a gaggle checking over our dress blues to make sure we looked presentable, typical for Marines waiting for something to begin. Suddenly a car with a lone occupant pulled in and parked, the driver composing herself for a few minutes. She got out and walked over to us, then attempted to smile. But the emotional strain was obvious as she wiped away a tear.
She was the daughter of a Marine, and we were there to help bury her father.
Supporting a funeral detail was one of the most emotionally impactful periods I had during my 24-year military career. When I was assigned to what was then the 4th Landing Support Battalion in Fort Lewis, Washington, I was referred to the Marine Corps Drill and Ceremonies manual. I needed a crash course to learn what I needed to precisely perform the duty, including our positioning, the folding of the flag, and how to present it to the spouse or eldest child while saying, "On behalf of a grateful nation. ..." Then salute and back away.
During my three-year assignment, my unit supported almost 200 funerals a year for Marines ranging from privates to a brigadier general. Whether you went to boot camp, received a commission, deployed overseas for a combat tour, stayed state side, went to Okinawa or you were a homeless veteran, it did not matter to us. Nothing in the ceremonies manual prepared me for the emotional toll of funeral details, of thinking one day it will be me lying in the casket while my family receives a folded flag.
We all deserve the same final salute when it's over--a folded flag, the playing of Taps--a mark of gratitude and recognition to those who dedicated their lives to defending and serving the nation. But how their families felt about that service was another matter.
At the funeral, the Marine's daughter told us that her father had been in declining health for the past year and that his death was not unexpected. She thought she was emotionally prepared when he did die, but when she saw us gathered as she arrived, standing in our uniforms, childhood memories rushed back and it hurt.
Her father, a retired lieutenant colonel, served on active duty during most of her childhood, and she saw Marines all the time growing up. Our presence reminded her of another time. Maybe even a better time. I'm not really sure. On that day, we were the most Marines she had seen in one place in about three decades, and it both overwhelmed and comforted her.
Before we were to begin she told us, "I didn't cry until I saw all of you."
Unfortunately, not all funeral details were like that. I remember another service, where one of the two adult children kept a distance from everyone else. The man stood tight and erect, glancing over at us, then looking away. Once the service had concluded he came over and explained that while he agreed to attend his father's funeral, he could not bring himself to stand with the other mourners.
Apparently his father ran the house the same way his father served, he said. He didn't really get into the details, but I could imagine. I think he didn't treat his kids like children, but like little Marines. This man never reconciled his feelings toward his father even in death.
I felt bad. We were giving a final salute to a Marine and one of his children was still angry and resentful. I thought of the advice I had been given to never bring work home from the office; make a separation once you walk in the front door. I had four children under eight years old at the time and I thought of that advice when I came home that day. I just wanted to embrace my kids, to see them happy compared to that guy.
At the time I guess I just didn't realize just how important funeral details were until long after I transferred. These are memories I will never forget and they resonate with me more than ever today. I just did not realize it at the time.
Years later, now that I've had time to contemplate my career, I wonder: Will my children have the same reaction that the woman had when she saw all of us at her father's funeral? Or will it be like the son who attended his father's funeral from a distance because of lingering bitterness?
I have never asked my children how they felt about my military service. I think I just assumed they were fine with it. I know that as they grew older they would develop a small core group of friends wherever we were stationed, but those relationships would be ripped apart every time we moved. I became acutely aware of this when we moved from North Carolina to Virginia. I had two teenagers in the house and we had been stationed at Camp Lejeune for four years, the longest tour we had in any location.
Now that we were moving, they would have to start over again. I was cognizant of it, but it was out of my control. I told myself that this would be the last move so that they wouldn't have to go through that again, but I've never asked them how it made them feel. I guess I just assumed they were fine.
And though my eldest children know I want military honors at my own funeral, I struggle with asking them if they were happy or not during my tours. I fear they will say something negative, and it will make me regret my service. I don't want to know. I'm scared to ask.
So I struggle. And I wonder: What is my legacy? What is it for my fellow Marines? Do they have the same feelings or concerns?
We all follow orders, do the job, and take pride in doing it well. Regardless of all that, what did your family really think about all those deployments? The upheaval every few years when you had a change of duty station? The missed birthdays, holidays, and school events. How do you think you will be remembered once you are gone?
Will someone cry for you?
The original version of this article appeared on thewarhorse.org.
This War Horse reflection was reported by Christopher Murphy, edited by Kim Vo, fact-checked by Jess Rohan, and copy-edited by Mitchell Hansen-Dewar. Hrisanthi Pickett wrote the headline.
Christopher Murphy enlisted in the United States Air Force in 1994. After college, he was accepted into Officer Candidate School in the US Marine Corps. After commissioning, he served in billets around the country and deployed to all three combat zones--Iraq, Afghanistan, and Horn of Africa. His final assignment was with the Department of Defense Office of Inspector General before retiring from the United States Marine Corps after 24 years. The New Hampshire native is the youngest of five siblings and currently resides with his wife and six daughters in Northern Virginia.
