The Day of the Farewell
Friday, 1 p.m.
The parking lot was overflowing — the deep rumble of motorcycles filling the air like thunder.
Fifty-three bikers stood shoulder to shoulder, engines off, heads bowed.
A full Army honor guard had arrived, uniforms crisp and flags folded.
Even a Navy chaplain drove three hours just to preside.
Inside, the chapel glowed softly with afternoon light. Rows filled with people — veterans with medals pinned to their jackets, strangers clutching tissues, a few quietly weeping.
The funeral director met me at the door, her eyes glistening.
“I’ve done this job for twenty-three years,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
