Chapter 5 - David’s Memorial
The formal battalion memorial service was held on a Thursday morning inside the stone chapel at Joint Base Lewis-McChord. The sanctuary was packed with hundreds of soldiers in dress blues, their brass insignia gleaming under the stained-glass windows.
At the front of the chapel stood the traditional battlefield cross: David’s combat boots, his rifle inverted with the bayonet fixed, his helmet perched atop the receiver, and his dog tags hanging down, catching the golden light.
I sat in the front pew, wearing a simple black dress, Grace cradled securely against my chest in a soft sling. Derek sat on my left, his shoulders rigid, wearing his only clean suit. On my right sat Major Sterling and the battalion command sergeant major.
Outside the visitor gate, two miles away, Arthur and Evelyn had attempted to gain entry thirty minutes prior to the service. Captain Miller had quietly briefed me before the organ began playing: Arthur had brought his church pastor, insisting that "as next-of-kin's parents," they were entitled to attend a military memorial. The gate guards, having Arthur’s face and license plate flagged on the terminal, had turned them away without hesitation. When Arthur refused to reverse his truck, county deputies had been dispatched to escort him off the roadway.
They were not here to turn David's sacrifice into their stage.
The roll call began. A senior non-commissioned officer stood at the back of the chapel, his voice booming across the silence:
"Staff Sergeant Miller!"
"Present, First Sergeant!"
"Staff Sergeant Ramirez!"
"Present, First Sergeant!"
"Staff Sergeant Morgan!"
Silence filled the chapel.
"Staff Sergeant David Morgan!"
The silence thickened, heavy with the weight of unpayable debts.
"Staff Sergeant David A. Morgan!"
A lone bugler in the balcony raised his horn. The first haunting notes of *Taps* pierced the air, rising toward the vaulted timber ceiling. As the notes rolled over us, the soldiers around me stiffened to attention, hands raised in crisp, unbroken salutes.
May you like
I looked at the inverted rifle. I looked at David’s dog tags. I lowered my head to Grace’s soft hair, whispering against her forehead: "Your daddy was a hero. And nobody will ever steal his honor from you."
***
