Yesterday I drove out to the Central Texas State Veteran’s Cemetery to visit my Dad’s grave for the first time. The headstone takes six to eight weeks after the burial to be installed, so I was very interested in finally seeing it. I picked up my best friend, Val, just this side of Ft. Worth and we were on our way.
The drive is about three and a half hours from my house if you factor in stops for restrooms and Diet Cokes. We arrived at the cemetery at about 11:30 in the morning. There was a lady sitting near a freshly installed headstone, just visiting her beloved. Val and I walk to find Dad’s among the rest in his “unit” as we called the collection of graves in that area. I was surprised to find that the marble was ice cold. You know it will be, but just how cold is pretty amazing. I laid my hands on it and instinctively I wanted to rub the side of it the way I rubbed his shoulder when he was dying.
We looked at the inscription. The Christian cross at the top. David Lee Thomas. LTC US ARMY. Vietnam. (Why only Vietnam I wondered) Mar 5 1946 – Aug 21 2021. BSM & 3 OLC. DMSM MSM ARCOM. Bullworker. Loving Husband and Dad. Val texted her Army sister to find out what it all means. BSM – Bronze Star Medal. 3 OLC – Four Oak Leaf Clusters. Defense Meritorious Service Medal. Meritorious Service Medal. Army Commendation Medal. Your Dad was a Badass, Val says. Well obviously.
She keeps the atmosphere light, as I knew she would. We joke about pulling up some lawn chairs and cracking open a few beers with a tribunal whiskey at the headstone, while kicking back and watching an Aggie game on the laptop. I can hear Dad chuckling. Just the kind of humor he appreciated.
Val goes off to pick up all the fallen over Christmas wreaths in Dad’s unit while I stay and talk softly to him. I tell him I miss him, that Fu Fu misses him. That we’re doing alright and that I’m taking good care of Mom. I don’t talk a lot but just absorb where I am. I kneel behind the headstone with my arms draped over it. I feel closer to him that way, as if I’m giving him a hug. I stay that way awhile. It’s very peaceful in this cemetery. I don’t cry – I just try to remember. How we laughed, how he loved, how it was over much too quickly. I feel him there, in my heart, but I do not feel any kind of spiritual presence. I never have, it just feels like he is very far away. There hasn’t been any kind of whisper or chill or anything that tells me he’s right there. I know he isn’t. I feel like he is at peace and in the presence of God. He can see us, and hear us, but he knows there isn’t any need to “be” here. We’ve got this. We’re alright.
I get up and wander around a bit. I notice coins on the tops of some of the headstones. Naturally I have to find out what they are for. I google it. A penny means someone visited. In military terms a nickel means they were in boot camp together, a dime means they served together and a quarter means the person was with him when he was killed. Val and I decide we will leave pennies and start to walk back to the car to get them. I get close and stop dead in my tracks. Val – look! There is a bright red cardinal on my car. Peering and preening in the side mirror. He flies off to a tree as we approach but presently comes back again. Dad, I say, quit showing off. Val takes pictures while I appreciate the moment.
I decide to leave a quarter as well as my penny. The coins will be collected about once a year and used for cemetery upkeep. In civilian terms a quarter means you were with him when he died. So I go with it. We place the coins and tell Dad bye. It was good to see you Sir, Val says. I know he’s answering “I’m glad you got to see me.”
We stop to eat at Cheddar’s and as we sit down at the bar I glance up and there is a bottle of Jameson straight ahead of my face. I smile. Dad, you are still larger than life. Still invincible. I feel something like the “let down” after Christmas – anticipation now satisfied and fulfilled. It was hard seeing that name in stone but I am relieved to know it’s perfect. The inscription, the place, the peace.
Bye Dad. I’ll be back sometime. In the meantime I’m glad I got to see you.
