For a few years in the early 2000's, I was the NCOIC (Non Commissioned Officer In Charge) of the Base Honor Guard where I was stationed. I led, and performed, over 200 funerals in that time, from aged veterans who carried with them a long story, a large family, and many many friends. I laid to rest active duty military members who died in accidents, or from illness. I carried the caskets of men and women who died in the line of duty. I have done it all, folding flags, firing rifles, carrying caskets. There was one job, just one, that everyone wanted to have, but no one wanted to have. Yes, it's confusing, but the one job that every person feared, but found the deepest and most profound honor, was giving a folded flag to a loved one. If I can possibly put into words, the emotions and thoughts, then let me try.

After the pomp and ceremony, the fanfare and the tradition, is the single moment when my heart tends to collapse into itself. It is never easy, but for some, it is especially hard. When I presented the flag to an older woman, who's husband passed away due to age, or illness, it is comforting to know that they lived a full life, and they experienced all that they set out to experience. The test of strength comes when you turn, with the flag cradled in your arms, and you face a young wife, not more then 22 years old, who is staring at you as if you have brought her husband's body to her personally. She looks at you and her eyes pierce your heart and burn through your soul. You maintain composure, but every muscle in your body shakes. It is pure discipline that keeps you from weeping beside her. You hand her the folded flag, and you repeat the phrase;

"On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Air Force, and a grateful nation, I present to you this flag as a token of appreciation for the many years of faithful and dedicated service of___________. May God bless you, your family, and the United States of America."

At this point, she will do one of two things. She will either stare blankly at you, as if her entire reason for living has been ripped from her soul and her body is a shell that stands before you, or she will weep uncontrollably, as if you have sealed the final fate of her loved one, and it is you who has ended his existence. You know in your heart she does not believe that, but her every action, her every look, screams for retribution for what has happened to her. You look down, and there is a newborn baby, or a child barely old enough to know what is happening, and they salute you, because their daddy taught them to. At this point, it is the power of God that is keeping you standing, and nothing more. You lose the ability to speak, and you lose the ability to reason. You are operating on pure training at this point. You stand and salute the flag, and the widow, and then turn to march off, leaving the family to contemplate their future minus their loved one.

There is NOTHING in this world that hurts worse, then being that person, the messenger that seals the deal, that closes the ceremony, letting them know that he's really gone. Politics be damned, this is a human reaction. It is not confined to those with or without religion, with or without politics. It transcends all limits of humanity, and it brings you to a whole new level of understanding, of the toll paid by those defending our way of life, our interests, and our freedoms.

I know first hand what that pain is like. Each flag I presented was a life lost. The families suffered the loss of one loved one. I suffered the loss of hundreds. Any person who claims the moral high ground, must first walk in the shoes that I walked in, and then they can have an opinion. Until then, any thoughts they have are hollow in comparison. Hand a young wife a flag, representing everything her husband died for, and watch her weep at a distance barely measurable in inches, and feel the immense pain flowing from her, and THEN create an opinion.