Goodbye Kernel

The Honor Guard, in front of a grieving crowd, folded the flag,

slowly and deliberately, sharply sealing each crease,

as the last notes of Taps echoed through the trees

and the smoke from the three volleys cleared.

Just then, I heard the wail of a freight train

running on the old Grand Trunk line down by the river,

blowing at each crossing, as it came closer.

Next, one of the soldiers knelt before his oldest,

presenting him the flag on behalf of a grateful nation

and the wails began to fade as the train headed on eastward.

-

He never expected to see ’69, after that bloody New Year in Vietnam;

Tet, they called it, and he was in the Iron Triangle.

Miraculously, he came home, in one piece, decorated and recognized for valor,

but he’d been changed and now embraced each new day as a gift.

One marriage ended and a few years later another began

and he now had three new boys to help raise,

one who nicknamed him Kernel, spelled for pop corn and not his rank.

Eventually, after an honorable retirement,

he headed back to high school where he influenced a new generation

to the ideals of duty and honor and hard work.

-

Empty-nesters, Kernel and his wife Joyce finally retired to the lake

where they enjoyed many sunsets and a few good years,

before he engaged a new battle, this one with his heart.

Struggling to recover from a major attack and stroke

in which he spent a month in a coma,

he was able beat it, just for a while, allowing him to care for Joyce,

who was now on dialysis and dying from pancreatic cancer.

He was there at the end, and thereafter tried to keep busy,

volunteering at the library and enjoying his men’s Bible study group

till one evening when his heart finally gave out.

-
His ashes, along with his wife’s, were buried in the National Cemetery

where, as the crowd walked back from the grave,

six Blackhawks, flying in formation, came over at treetop level,

heading west, a final flight for an airborne officer…

It was an honor to be among the mourners last Friday.