Rumpled
02-27-2005, 01:56 AM
Not really relevant, just feel like talking on my keyboard.
My father passed away two weeks ago, long series of medical problems that finally beat him.
He always wanted to be buried in a National Cemetery. The one for Northern California is San Joaquin National Cemetery it's near Gustine/Santa Nella. I'd never been to the cemetery, but know the area generally.
It's better looking than I expected, very green right now - should be very brown by summer.
Dad did the ROTC thing, then '59-62 Army Special Forces, no combat though Cuba was possible. Then he went Reserve for the next 37 years and 8 months before they told him he had to retire after 30. While I was growing up he was gone a lot of weekends, weeknights and summers doing the Army thing. It's a little sad to me that with all of the downsizing that has occurred, his Army no longer exists. Not just his unit, or his base ( I don't know if Camp Parks is still a base or not) but his whole Army - the Sixth Army just doesn't even exist anymore.
He finally retired as a Lt. Colonel.
I'd been to a number of military funerals, even a few for combat deaths, but nothing can compare to the one for your own father.
The committal ceremony by the honor guard at the cemetery was more difficult for me to get through than the Catholic Funeral Mass. It was a group of 7 or 8 National Guardsman (is that the right way to say it when the leading Staff Sergeant was a woman?).
The bugler playing taps live just tugs at you. Then the very methodical folding and saluting of the flag. The worst part,emotionally, was as oldest son I was presented with the flag. When the Sergeant knealt in front of me, presented the flag and said "the President of the United States" and I don't know what else because the tears filled my ears as well as my eyes and sinuses - it was one of the most powerfully emotionally moments of my life. I don't have any children of my own, so that can't compare. It was even more emotional than when I watched him die, his death was expected, but I didn't expect the impact, history, ceremony etc of the flag, the Army, the honor guard and their words would have on me.
After the ceremony we all went to the perpetual half-staff flag on top of a hill overlooking the cemetery. This part was very mechanical, the hearse drives up to a cherry picker type thing with a crew for internment.
Up there a number of men who served with my father talked to me, some in uniform. Many of them I knew well growing up - they were lifelong friends of my father, and in some ways me also, some I had never met. One, I noticed early; he got many crisp salutes from the honor guard - as Generals do. At the flagpole he explained how my father had been a mentor to him when he had been a young Major. Somehow, this meant a lot to me coming from a man I had never met before in my life.
After this, I spent half an hour walking the cemetery grounds with my wife, she had met my father only a few times. I'm still somewhat saddened that he couldn't attend my wedding due to his long illness. I even delayed it awhile hoping he could travel, but he couldn't.
We left the cemetery and went to O'Neill Forebay Wildlife Area a few miles down the road. This is where I bagged my first pheasant, and my father got his first in about 25 years on that same day. Since I moved to SoCal, and he still lived in the Bay Area, we would somtimes meet in the areas around here to go hunting together.
I took my two labs out for a long walk, remembering the better times, we had hunted together over my older one in this very same place.
My father taught me to shoot, I seem to remember that the NRA had ten rules for gun safety - not the four we use today. I had to remember these rules from when I was 5 until I was seven when I got my Crossman BB gun. I had to adhere to these rules until I was 10 when I got my first .22 It was also my father's first .22 and I still have it. I don't know who I'll pass it on to next, there's noone left.
For years we've talked about getting a DCM (now CMP) Garand, but never got around to it.
I'll have to fill out my paperwork tomorrow and send it off - I'll think of my father with every round.
I'll probably visit the cemetery three or four times a year when I drive up to visit other family in the area - I'll get to see it throughout the seasons. It's supposed to be left in a natural state, I guess they don't want to waste the water on sod. My wife may not like it, but I think I'll be there for Memorial Day this year - his marker might be there by then. (I'm not badmouthing my wife - she just doesn't think of Gustine as a holiday spot. She'll let me take the dogs and disappear for a few days.)
If you've made it this far, thanks for letting me spout off. My father wasn't perfect, none of us are, but he was my father and I miss him and will continue to do so.
Tell the people that you love that you love them while you still can.
My father passed away two weeks ago, long series of medical problems that finally beat him.
He always wanted to be buried in a National Cemetery. The one for Northern California is San Joaquin National Cemetery it's near Gustine/Santa Nella. I'd never been to the cemetery, but know the area generally.
It's better looking than I expected, very green right now - should be very brown by summer.
Dad did the ROTC thing, then '59-62 Army Special Forces, no combat though Cuba was possible. Then he went Reserve for the next 37 years and 8 months before they told him he had to retire after 30. While I was growing up he was gone a lot of weekends, weeknights and summers doing the Army thing. It's a little sad to me that with all of the downsizing that has occurred, his Army no longer exists. Not just his unit, or his base ( I don't know if Camp Parks is still a base or not) but his whole Army - the Sixth Army just doesn't even exist anymore.
He finally retired as a Lt. Colonel.
I'd been to a number of military funerals, even a few for combat deaths, but nothing can compare to the one for your own father.
The committal ceremony by the honor guard at the cemetery was more difficult for me to get through than the Catholic Funeral Mass. It was a group of 7 or 8 National Guardsman (is that the right way to say it when the leading Staff Sergeant was a woman?).
The bugler playing taps live just tugs at you. Then the very methodical folding and saluting of the flag. The worst part,emotionally, was as oldest son I was presented with the flag. When the Sergeant knealt in front of me, presented the flag and said "the President of the United States" and I don't know what else because the tears filled my ears as well as my eyes and sinuses - it was one of the most powerfully emotionally moments of my life. I don't have any children of my own, so that can't compare. It was even more emotional than when I watched him die, his death was expected, but I didn't expect the impact, history, ceremony etc of the flag, the Army, the honor guard and their words would have on me.
After the ceremony we all went to the perpetual half-staff flag on top of a hill overlooking the cemetery. This part was very mechanical, the hearse drives up to a cherry picker type thing with a crew for internment.
Up there a number of men who served with my father talked to me, some in uniform. Many of them I knew well growing up - they were lifelong friends of my father, and in some ways me also, some I had never met. One, I noticed early; he got many crisp salutes from the honor guard - as Generals do. At the flagpole he explained how my father had been a mentor to him when he had been a young Major. Somehow, this meant a lot to me coming from a man I had never met before in my life.
After this, I spent half an hour walking the cemetery grounds with my wife, she had met my father only a few times. I'm still somewhat saddened that he couldn't attend my wedding due to his long illness. I even delayed it awhile hoping he could travel, but he couldn't.
We left the cemetery and went to O'Neill Forebay Wildlife Area a few miles down the road. This is where I bagged my first pheasant, and my father got his first in about 25 years on that same day. Since I moved to SoCal, and he still lived in the Bay Area, we would somtimes meet in the areas around here to go hunting together.
I took my two labs out for a long walk, remembering the better times, we had hunted together over my older one in this very same place.
My father taught me to shoot, I seem to remember that the NRA had ten rules for gun safety - not the four we use today. I had to remember these rules from when I was 5 until I was seven when I got my Crossman BB gun. I had to adhere to these rules until I was 10 when I got my first .22 It was also my father's first .22 and I still have it. I don't know who I'll pass it on to next, there's noone left.
For years we've talked about getting a DCM (now CMP) Garand, but never got around to it.
I'll have to fill out my paperwork tomorrow and send it off - I'll think of my father with every round.
I'll probably visit the cemetery three or four times a year when I drive up to visit other family in the area - I'll get to see it throughout the seasons. It's supposed to be left in a natural state, I guess they don't want to waste the water on sod. My wife may not like it, but I think I'll be there for Memorial Day this year - his marker might be there by then. (I'm not badmouthing my wife - she just doesn't think of Gustine as a holiday spot. She'll let me take the dogs and disappear for a few days.)
If you've made it this far, thanks for letting me spout off. My father wasn't perfect, none of us are, but he was my father and I miss him and will continue to do so.
Tell the people that you love that you love them while you still can.