Honoring Mr. Stokely

                                             Leo Stokely

                               Born; 6/5/1949 South Carolina
           Died; 11/4/2018 at the Waters of Cheatham, Ashland City
            Buried: 11/9/2018 Middle Tennessee Veterans Cemetery,
                                        Nashville, Tennessee


I went to the funeral today of Mr. Leo Stokely. I didn’t know the gentleman. I had learned about him through a post in a Facebook group. The post indicated that Mr. Stokely was a Marine who had served in Vietnam. He had died without any family to mourn his passing. His funeral was to be today and the gentleman who posted urged folks who could to attend.

Well, Mr. Stokely was to be buried in Middle Tennessee Veterans Cemetery here in Nashville. I didn’t know him, but there are many Mr. Stokelys in this world and I do know some of them. This gentleman may have been forgotten in life, I cannot say, but I did not want for him to be forgotten in death.

So in the wee hours of the morning, I woke up. It was raining. I thought to myself that the only thing worse than a funeral is a funeral on a rainy, chilly day. I began to waver in my determination to go to the funeral of Mr. Stokely; after all, I hadn’t known him. I drifted back to sleep.

I woke up with 52 minutes to grab breakfast and leave. I had been hoping to have at least an hour to get ready. Any other morning, I would have woken up much earlier but today I hadn’t. I told myself that I should perhaps not go. I was going to have to rush, I didn’t really know the way to the cemetery, the weather was terrible, … and after all, I hadn’t known Mr. Stokely.

I thought about my Mr. Stokelys though and I thought about how Veterans Day is Sunday and so I hurriedly got ready and I left for the cemetery. I was praying that the directions that I had printed off the night before would be as straightforward as they seemed. I had called the cemetery the day before to find out where in the cemetery I should go. I hoped that the reassurance that I could find the proper place was not unfounded.

I made it without difficulty to the cemetery. Cars lined up along nearly all of the roadways in the cemetery. I was directed down a road. I drove by a long line of cars before I could turn around and pull over to park. I climbed up a hill toward the building where Mr. Leo Stokely’s service would be held. I had to walk quite a distance, in the chilly, slight drizzle and it was all uphill. I have to admit, I got a tad bit chilled and weary. That made me smile.

I could imagine Mr. Stokely and the other veterans who had already been interred in the cemetery shaking their heads in wonder that walking up the gradual rise that I was walking could actually tire a person. I could imagine their wonder that a bit of a drizzle and temps in the forties could tax anyone. I could imagine them enduring much more devastating weather and carrying equipment, perhaps even injured brothers over much more difficult terrain. I had to smile at their imagined incredulity at my weakness.

Well, I made it up the hill to the building where Mr. Stokely’s service was to be held. The small round building was already filled with people and folks were standing out in the chilly, drizzly weather to pay their respects. There were: men and women; old and young; black, white Asian, Hispanic; folks dressed in suits and sleek overcoats, folks dressed in camo cargo pants, ladies in jeans and others in dress slacks and pearls; disparate folks united in our shared humanity.

There were several local news stations with cameras and such there. I heard one lady speak into a recorder saying that Mr. Leo Stokely was no longer “unclaimed”. I overheard a gentleman telling the man that stood next to him, “Looks like Leo has lots of family today.” That made me happy.

I thanked the young folks in uniform that I saw outside the building while we waited and soon a black hearse pulled up the drive escorted by police officers. Flags were held by Marines, veterans and others along the path Mr. Stokely’s coffin would follow into the small round building. Mr. Stokely was saluted as he entered that building. 

I was outside and I could not hear the words that were said during the service inside. I don’t know if the words were generic or if there was anyone who presented personal stories about Mr. Stokely. I heard no words, but I heard the plop of a cold drizzle hit the nylon of my rain jacket. I heard the rifles fire in salute to Mr. Leo Stokely. I heard the spent shells hit the sidewalk. I heard the sound of the wind whipping the flags that flew at half-mast. I heard the sound of the ropes that tethered those flags clunk against their poles. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose that the sound of that flag whipping in the wind was more important than any words voiced. 

I know that a prayer was said at some point. Heads bowed as that prayer was said. I could not hear the words said and so I prayed my own. I did not pray for the Mr. Leo Stokely who had died, for he is now free of all infirmities of body and mind. I prayed for all of the Leo Stokelys who yet live. I prayed for the veterans who remain behind. I prayed that our country would do its duty to them just as they performed their duty to our country. I prayed that we would continue to not forget them in death, but I prayed that we might also remember them in life.

The service ended and folks made their ways back to their vehicles and they left. I was glad that I had gone to the funeral of that stranger. It was the very least I could do. After all, that stranger had been willing to sacrifice his life for me; another stranger. After all, I could leave the cemetery and return to the safe haven of my home. I wonder if the Mr. Stokelys of this world can ever really return home from the battlefields in their minds.