I read the obituaries every morning, and this morning, I saw the one for a Warren McDonough, age 91, and a WW2 soldier. He had been in the invasion of Normandy and had only a niece, a nephew, and some friends listed as survivors.
I always pause when I read these old soldier obituaries and wonder what the war was like for them and what they did with themselves after they came home. I said a silent "thank you" to Mr. McDonough and turned the page.
Later this afternoon on Facebook, I saw his face again on a post by WAVE 3, so I read it to see what it said. The article talked about Warren and how sad it would be that there would be no one there to mourn him at his visitation. It suggested that if anyone had a few minutes, to stop by and pay respects to this old soldier, veteran of Omaha Beach, and the Invasion of Normandy.
I decided to go.
All of my WW2 buddies are gone now. Mr. Humphrey, Mr. Chard. Mr. Donaldson. I thought they would appreciate me stopping by to pay respects to a fellow soldier.
I pulled into the funeral home parking lot, and it was packed. I wondered if there was another visitation or if all of these cars were for Warren. Making my way to the lobby, the tears welled up as soon as I saw the Patriot Riders flanking the entry doors, American flags on each side. One opened the door for me, and the tears began flowing freely.
I looked for the name plates to see where Mr. McDonough was laid out, and his name was the only one. All the cars in the parking lot were for him. The room was packed. There were flowers from anonymous donors. People stood at his casket. They lined up to sign the guest book. They sat in the chairs and visited. One man stood at attention in the back of the room.
I kept crying.
I glanced over at a nearby table, and saw pictures of the young Warren and his name tape and a poem.
I went to visit the casket and saw where someone had put a silk poppy on his jacket. There was a thank you card next to him too.
The tears continued as I looked at all of the people coming in to pay respects. There was a soldier in his dress blues with his family. There were bikers, police officers, and paramedics. Parents came in with their small children or teenagers. A scout master came in with a few Boy Scouts. Old men in their VFW hats and young men in suits stood in line. Another soldier. Two more police officers. A twenty-something in sweats. A young couple prayed nearby. Black people. White people. Old folks and young. A wonderful slice of America, all there to pay respects to a stranger, to say, "Thank you" to a soldier who risked it all for people he didn't know.
As I left, I asked the funeral director if he had ever seen so many people come out for a total stranger.
"No. Never. I can't say I've ever seen this before," he replied.
"It's nice," I said. "Makes you feel like there is hope for us yet."
The Patriot Riders opened the door for me as I walked out. I thanked them for being there.
"It's the least we could do," one said. "For all he did, it's the least we could do."
http://www.rattermanbrothers.com/obituaries/Warren-Mcdonough/#!/Obituary
