My Visit to Arlington

A few weeks ago I traveled to Washington DC to do some research for my second Mason Montgomery book. I was only able to spend a couple of days in Washington DC, but I had beautiful, perfect weather, comfortable shoes and a load of research that had to be done. I managed to see everything on my agenda, but the stop that moved me the most was Arlington National Cemetery.

My trip to Arlington was for a specific purpose, I was scouting locations for a critical scene in my book. I also happen to love cemeteries and I had always secretly wanted to visit JFK's eternal flame (I don't know why, I wasn't even alive when he died). As I left JFK's resting place, I took a wrong turn and happened upon a funeral procession. Curious, I stopped to watch. I absolutely did not want to be disrespectful to those in mourning, but in my research I had learned a great deal about Arlington funeral processions and thought it could be an interesting, insightful, good research opportunity to see the well known ceremony first hand. Had I realized how the ceremony would affect me, most likely I would have walked away instead of creeping up to get a closer look.

As I politely walked closer and hid myself behind a tombstone, I heard a military officer shouting commands followed by the constant chut-chut of his troops' rifles. More than a dozen men stood in formation performing an intricate rifle routine. Next to the drilling men was a lone coffin covered with an American flag.

I immediately became mesmerized by the soldiers and their perfectly synchronized precision and timing. Once they had finished their rifle drill, the funeral director drove out, followed by a hearse (which I was confused by because the coffin was on the back of a horse drawn trailer.) Then, a black car drove by, which I assume held immediate family members. Once all of the official cars left the area, the soldiers once again began a rifle routine, their guns rotated this way and that, not one gun ever out of place. Interestingly the ceremony felt very respectful, instead of mechanical.

For a moment the entire cemetery was completely silent. Suddenly two of the soldiers began drumming and all of the soldiers began marching. The noise of the drums reverberated throughout the cemetery, and the soldiers looked mournful as they marched away from the funeral home and up the winding road. The large group of soldiers passed by me and it was interesting to see how serious, yet respectful they looked. As the last soldier walked by me, the horse drawn trailer carrying the coffin begin to roll out.

Even the horses seemed to walk with respect for the fallen soldier. As the coffin began to move, for the first time I cognitively realized I wasn't watching some random ceremony, I was witnessing a funeral procession, that there was a a body in the coffin, and all the pomp and ceremony was to honor an actual person. The soldiers and their rehearsed routines gave the funeral a more theatrical feel, however it was a funeral all the same. Whoever was in the coffin had died for our country, to keep our country safe, and to keep me safe.

As the coffin rolled past me, the military band began to play, announcing to all those in the area that a soldier had fallen and was receiving the highest burial honor our country could bestow upon him. The air around me was full of music and the scene before me suddenly felt very tragic. As the stars and stripes rolled by, my eyes welled with tears.

The person in the coffin had died, he had lost his life to help preserve my freedom. He was receiving the highest military burial possible, which suggested he was an honorable soldier, but still a precious human life had been lost. His family and friends grieved for him. Surprisingly, I grieved for him.

I couldn't stop myself. Between the music and the loss of life, I began weeping, huge tears rolled down my cheeks. I stood there and watched as the funeral procession continued on. The fallen soldier must have been a local young man because a never ending trail of cars followed behind the horse drawn carriage. Realizing that a bawling tourist was not the spectacle mourners really wanted to see during their time of grief, I turned around and and tried to wipe the tears that wouldn't stop falling from my eyes.

I walked in the opposite direction, determined to get back to my research. I took a wrong turn and bumped into another funeral procession, this one with a black covered coffin and a horseless rider. The tears didn't spill again, but my heart had been touched.

I meet military personnel nearly every day. I always try to remember to thank them for all they do to keep our country safe. Usually they are taken back, they are not used to being thanked for their work. I try to make it a point to talk with all the military personnel I meet. Every single soldier I've ever come in contact with tells me they believe they are doing good in the Middle East. Their work is hard, but they all assert that they are seeing progress. I've also met and talked with several consultants who take the media into the front lines. I have yet to meet a media consultant who has claimed that any media outlet has told a fair and balanced story of what really goes on, choosing intentionally to only film the bad and ignoring any good they come across.

Right or wrong, I firmly believe that if our military forces were not in the Middle East, terrorist activity would become a common occurrence here in the United States. It is my conviction that the men and women who have left their families and loved ones to serve our nation truly make it safe for me to go to work and fly around in an airplane. For their sacrifice I will be eternally grateful.

Most of you don't have jobs where a terrorist would love to blow up your building. While I love my job, when I go to work I am fully aware that a crazy person could possibly come on board and try to make a big statement with my aircraft. I have the utmost respect for our Armed Services and I truly believe their work helps to make my job safer.

Looking back, I can't help buy ask myself why I cried for the fallen soldier who was a stranger to me. Part of me felt like the fallen soldier died a bit for me, to protect my freedoms. Part of me cried because of the general loss of life. Part of me cried because I felt like the band was announcing to the entire cemetery, “Out of our way! The most important man of the hour is coming through and we are going to honor him the best and only way we know how! Watch our pomp and circumstance!” It was touching and emotional, and I suspect Arlington funeral ceremonies were intentionally designed to bring out emotion in all those who happen across one. I hope you all have the experience to witness an Arlington funeral. It will change your perception.

Whether or not you agree or disagree with the war, next time you see one of our brave men or women who serve in the military, take a moment to say, “Thank you for your hard work.” They will look at you with confusion, and then a smile.

If you've had a similar experience at Arlington National Cemetery, or if you would like to honor your military hero, I'd love to hear from you, Feel free to post here or you can email me at kylie@kylieklein.com

Tune in next week when I will discuss my recent trip to Zions National Park and why I don't like pants-that-zip-into-shorts. As you may know, we are preparing to do some mountain climbing and the pants-that-zip-into-shorts issue has become a highly contested subject in my circle of mountain climbers.

Oh, and one last thing. I am headed to London in a couple of weeks. If you have any must-see recommendations, please let me know what they are! I always try to visit the places people suggest.

Until next week, remember,

Life's a Journey, Take Notes!