The cloudy skies and gloomy day were fitting as we stood quietly while the guns were fired to honor a member of The Greatest Generation. Yesterday my Uncle Mike, age 88, who had served in the Pacific Theater during World War II, was laid to rest in a small town cemetery in northwestern Iowa. His widow, my dad's baby sister Vonnie, received the American flag from a young man in his Air Force dress blues, her grandson. What an emotional moment that was.
We visited with aunts, uncles and cousins that we see only at funerals. That is so sad. I hope we can arrange a family get together soon without having to gather to mourn the death of a loved one. I was struck at how much my dad's youngest brother had aged since I last saw him. And another uncle, and an aunt, were not able to attend because of their health issues. Even cousins of my generation showed their age, just as I do.
My thoughts as we left this little country church where Uncle Mike had been baptized, confirmed, and now buried were these: We will miss you uncle Mike, but will see you soon.