On Saturday we went to the funeral of 1st Lt. Nic Madroza. Dave went to both high school and college and played soccer with him throughout. I met Nic once.
He died in Afghanistan on September 9th in a hummer on his way back to base. Him, 2 other American Marines, and an Afghani interpreter.
When we walked from the parking lot into the church it was pure silence. There were about 12+ marines with flags outside awaiting the hearse. I turned around and watched 7 Marines pull the solid metal casket out of the car and they looked statuesque. I know they were struggling with the weight of the casket and restrictiveness of their uniforms, and I was in awe.
During the ceremony, I had a hard time paying attention to the family members because my focus was on the front of the chapel. His casket was covered in the flag and his army garb set up behind. His helmet and ID tags hung above is dirty boots and camouflage jacket. I stared in horror that his shoes still had Afghani dirt encrusted on their soles, his helmet still had his hair stuck in the nooks, his tags still had his finger prints on the cold metal, and camo jacket still smelled of him. He was there in front of everyone in every form but a pulse.
When the ceremony was about to commence, his commanding officer, also his uncle, stood in front of Nic's heaped shouldered parents to present a purple heart. I had such pride for their son. Once the purple heart was received, the Marines call attendance as a tradition. This was all very foreign to me, and I was bewildered at what took place. They called each Marines name and then they said "1st Lt. Nic Madroza" and repeated it 5 times. I was horrified. He didn't answer. With every repetition of his name, his mothers shoulders shook. Her body convulsed for the lack of answer and the erie, crisp air. Every face was one of shock; Nic would not answer. Amidst the horror, the french horn sang the classic tune that reminds us all of Gettysburg and death. I sobbed and I met him once.
This was such an amazing and scary experience. I have not experienced first hand any direct effects of Bush's chaotic and ridiculous war until this weekend. Nic's bravery and love for something so much larger than himself was humbling. I cannot express my love for his dedication and the pure, unaffected, and unwavering beauty of his service.
Thank you is not enough for 1st Lt. Nic Madroza, but it is what my limited vocabulary can offer. Thank you...
3 comments:
Oh My God, Taylor! I have never been to one of these funerals. You described it so poetically... I wish his parents could read this. My God, what a writer you are. I felt like I was there, and cried along with you.
I am blown away... this is your best blog yet.
Thanks for the story Tay. It will help me look at "Support our Troups" ribbons differently. I wish the parents of this young man were able to read what you wrote. Beautifully put.
There's such an interesting dichotamy that exists when you don't support a war, yet feel intense gratitude to the soldiers fighting in it. Your articulation of the experience was amazing. You're an incredibly talented writer.
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