Robert Andrew Martin
August 25, 1930-January 29, 2003
Feburary 6th, 2003 was an overcast gray day, but that bright gray where the sun is dispersed trough the water drops of low hanging sky. It was bright enough to photograph, but not so bright that the sun blinded you. It was threatening snow. I liked days like this where everything is shadow but there were no shadows. 
I sat on the edge of my parent's bed. Alone for a few minutes, getting ready to meet Pastor Randy and Amy, the lady who drives a van for the school, and her son. We were to meet at 11 that morning for the trip Arlington National Cemetery. I took a deep breath. They say that part of mourning is regret.
I looked at the last days of my dad's nearly 20-year fight with Cancers. I wondered if I should have stayed a little longer , held his hand for a while longer that last day I was there. A great huge wave of sadness rolled through me and I realized I didn't really want to bury dad that day. Selfish of me. Maybe.
Every time I get one of those feelings I remember. " For us to die is Gain." And that each time a person who is going to be with God for eternity, It's a day of rejoicing. All of heaven is there to greet him. All the questions he doesn't know the answers to are finally answered in a twinkling of an eye. And the greatest Joy is that all the things of earth are passed away and the old body is gone. The new body is no longer bound by the pain of earth, emotions, sickness, longings. And there my dad is, a good and faithful servant, in the very presence of the Creator of the Universe and knowing pure sweet love. Never to be hungry spiritually, physically, anymore. Finally unhindered and unbound in the arms of God.
I think it came to the 6 of us all at the same time, Mom, Cindy, Judy, Kim, Cathy and myself: There are no men in our family any longer. It was something I think Dad worried about before his death. He had always tried to put us first, encouraged us to be strong women, to handle anything that was put in front of us, to be independent, to survive, to sacrifice, to give all we have to the cause of Christ, to use every talent we have when ever called upon. Funny though, thinking he isn't there now, to run to, if we need him.
Pastor Randy drove the van into DC. Pastor Randy has been a rock. He was there for mom and the girls when dad passed away at the VA hospital in Martinsburg. He held a small service in one of the family rooms there right after Dad passed. He set up the memorial service hosted by Riverton United Methodist Church that was open to the public. Nearly 200 people showed up that day. We were very happy to have him with us this day as well.
The trip into DC was very quiet. We joked a bit with the Children and watched the scenery go by. The big question of the Day was because dad served in the Air Force would he get a flyover. None of us really knew. Cathy with much forethought had bought some Hershey's chocolate. And she passed it out among us on the trip until it was all gone. It reminded me a little of when Dad's mom passed away. And the entire family converged on Aunt June's house in Portsmouth. After the services that day we sat around in the kitchen with all the cousins drinking coke from bottles and joking and catching up. I was 15 then. All the parents were in the living room probably doing the same thing. It's a unique way I suppose of sharing the loss by being around family members.
When we arrived at Arlington we were directed to a special building. We had the opportunity to see the efficiency of the Armed services at work in the modern polished facility. There were four family room spread out around the complex. Each day of the week no less than 12 interment services a day were held at Arlington. 
I've been to the National Cemetery twice before. Once when I was 8 with the girl scouts to see the endless flame at President Kennedy's grave. Later when I was a teacher, to see the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. This time we weren't tourists. We were insiders. As we met the Air Force Chaplin on duty that day and the Funeral Director, One of Dad's best friends John Kenny, and his wife joined us. It was a friendship that had lasted many years and we were thrilled when John agreed to act as pallbearer for Dad.
Also joining us was Mrs. Johnson and her daughter. Mrs. Johnson is the landlord of the school property and through the years that the school has been located on Innisfree's property she and her late husband Col. Johnson had become close friends to our family. It was the first time I had a chance to meet her. She is a lovely woman with a strong love of God and Christian Service, who takes great pride in the fact that the school is located on the property.
Mom rode to the gravesite with Mr. and Mrs. Kenny. The rest of us followed in the van with the Johnson's car bringing up the rear. The Air Force Car led us snaking through the cemetery. Dad was riding there with the Funeral Director and the Chaplin. Having never been to a Military Funeral before I wasn't sure what to expect. Since I was going to photo document the entire proceedings for those who couldn't be there I needed to know. Although they explained everything before we left the family complex, it was still hard to picture until we were actually there and experiencing it.
It took us about 10 minutes to snake our way through the cemetery to the location. While riding and looking over the acres of grave markers one couldn't help wondering what stories were there. Images of the play Our Town popped into my head. And I wondered If the spirits of all those patriots who had served our country were sitting there above the markers discussing the proceedings, sharing war stories, individual histories, catching up on history that came after them. Funny what you think of in a place like that.
As we turned down the road that leads to the above ground crypts and gardens where dad's remains would find their final resting. We could see groups of color guards from the other branches of the service marching from one place to the other to perform the honors for other funerals to be held that day.
When we arrived at our location, the Honor Guard met us. Off to the side, a lone bugler stood. Facing him at an angle were the 4 Air Force riflemen and the color guard holding the American Flag and the Air Force Flag.
With great pomp and circumstance the honor guard formed at attention. Dad's remains were taken from the lead car by two service men and we followed along as the honor guard escorted him, in formation, to the pavilion where a short service was held. The honor guard held the flag over Dad then folded it for presentation. The Air Force Chaplin spoke, The 12 gun salute happened. Much to my surprise they didn't fire in the air but holding the guns straight out. I thought fleetingly that I hoped they were firing blanks, because from the distance it almost seemed they were firing at the bugler. I know I have the order of the service all mixed up, but I was just trying to be a part of it and get as many pictures as I could.
I was doing well until the bugler played taps. Then I had to put the Camera down. I went to stand with mom then. We were all crying. Taps will never mean the same thing to me from that moment on. It was like all the things that Dad meant to us over the years came flooding through in a few brief minutes. It's a good memory.
After the Chaplin presented the Flag to mom and the Woman from the Air Force Social Services department gave her a card and spoke briefly with her, The honor guard marched away and we headed to that area of the garden where dad was to be interred.
There was a little flowering tree right in front of his "cubby hole", as mom called it. Dad loved flowering trees. He had planted a dogwood tree at home right in front of the picture window. Its something he would have liked. The only thing that could have possibly made it better would have been a gold fishpond.
The Chaplin spoke again when we were all gathered. He gave us a run down of Dad's Air Force service record. Dad left the service with the rank of Staff Sergeant. Not bad for an enlisted man. Mr. Kenny placed Dad's remains in the crypt. We prayed and the Chaplin shook all of our hands. Well except Judy's. I think he was confused. Amy got her handshake. I guess that sort of thing happens when you have to do so many of those funerals and you don't really get the chance to know the families well.
The Chaplin and the Funeral Director left us and we slowly made our ways back to the cars. I got half way there and suddenly realized that Mrs. Johnson was lagging behind. I went back to walk with her. I was very glad I had the opportunity to speak with her and tell her how much my parents thought of her and Col. Johnson. I also shared with her how glad I was that she and her daughter were able to join us on such a cold winter day. Col. Johnson is also buried at Arlington, she reminded me.
We were almost to the cars, when behind us we heard a flock of geese. We turned and looked. They were flying in perfect "V" formation. Just as they flew over the place where Dad was buried, one at the very end, broke formation and hovered there briefly before flying off in another direction. Dad got his Fly Over! It reminded us that even in the depths of our greatest sorrow, God is still there watching over us and meeting our needs. It's all Good.
