The dispatch indicated the name was Mrs. H. (and since I don’t have her permission to use her name, I’ll stick with that). I pulled up to a modest, well-kept and neatly maintained bungalow in an older section of Phoenix. There was an American flag on a pole in the front yard.
Mrs. H. appeared to be in her mid to late sixties, but I wasn’t about to ask – momma didn’t raise no fools.
The address she gave me was pretty far out, on Cave Creek Road, and I couldn’t quite picture where the destination was. I asked her if it was near the National Memorial Cemetery, and she said it was the Cemetery. Now, I have been out there many times, mostly on Patriot Guard Rider missions, but never really knew the street address.
On the drive up, we chatted. She was on her way to visit her brother (Viet Nam vet), her husband (also Viet Nam) and her son (Iraq). I asked what branches they had served in; all three were Marines. Her brother and her husband had served together, and both had given their lives to that war – her brother while in country in 1965, and her husband to the cancer brought about by Agent Orange in 2003. Her son had been killed in Iraq in 2006. She usually drove herself, she said, but lately she didn’t feel safe driving and this was the first time she had only been able to get up to the Cemetery on Memorial Day.
It was late in the afternoon, and the day’s heat had had time to build up and settle in; it was around 104 when we arrived. I helped her out of the car, and started escorting her to the sites.
“Oh, young man, I’m OK. I don’t need your help, and besides, I can’t afford to pay your wait time.”
“Ma’am, you’re going to need a ride home. Don’t worry about the wait time. It would be my honor to accompany you on your walk.”
With that, we turned and headed down the path towards an older section of the Park. The first stop was at her brother’s site, and as she stepped close to talk to him, I held back and assumed a position of “at ease.” We moved on to her husband’s grave, and, finally, her son’s grave in the same manner – her taking a moment to speak to them, me allowing her privacy.
As I offered her my arm for the walk back to the cab, she again mentioned that I was being overly kind to an old bother like herself. I told her she wasn’t a bother, and that the honor was mine – after all that her family had given to this country, it was the least I could do.
The ride back to her home was pretty much silent.
When we pulled up, I hustled out and opened her door for her, helping her out once again.
“How much is the meter, Cary?”
“Seems to be broken, Mrs. H. You don’t owe anything.”
“Thank you, Cary. That is much too kind.”
“No, thank YOU for allowing your family to help keep this country as great as it is.”
I gave her my number, and told her that any time she wanted to go up and visit, I would drive her up in my own vehicle – so there wouldn’t be any issues about the meter. She looked up at me, and muttered something about stubborn Marines.
As I pulled away, I could see her waving to me, with a bigger smile on her face than when I picked her up.
Chat ya later…
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