Chapter 7 A Hero's Death
P O V: Matthew Casey
Storm clouds have started to roll in as we filled the cemetery for the burial. While most of the town has split now leaving only family and close friends, professionals the cemetery is still quite full.
Holding Sylvie's hand I stood tall by her hoping my silent strength passed through our connected hands. She's been silent the entire time barely saying anything just staring straight ahead. I am actually worried about her, I know she's trying to be professional, not worrying her family who has enough to worry about.
Her Aunt Jeri is crying so hard her legs have been shaking, her husband has his arm wrapped through hers sliding around her back. It feels strange being on this side which is reserved for the family, I should be across from them next to my wife who's own pain was shining brightly in her mist filled eyes. It was her idea for me to go over here though. She knew Sylvie was barely holding herself together so she asked her if she would want one of us by her side. Everyone over here had a spouse or a sibling.
Chris was with his Marine family leaving Sylvie alone, so she asked for me, how was I suppose to say No? Why would I? Silently I pray for the snow to hold off, I mean it would be fitting; I guess since snow is really just water, water is rain which is really just tear drops from heaven. It's fitting that the angels would be crying today.
So many of the people gathered/ huddled close together are shedding tears, openly. Yet Sylvie remains frozen her eyes cast forward her breathing is tight however so I know she's having trouble holding it together. I wish she would just let herself cry already she doesn't have to be so strong all the damn time. Looking around I could see everyone had the same burning question echoing in their minds.
Why?
Why is there fighting? What are we even fighting for anymore? Do we even remember? Why won't our president end this? Why are we sending our young men and women over there to come home like this? Why must there be so much hate and anger in this world? Why are we justified in feeling like we have the right to take another human life? Who deems it acceptable?
I hate when people say it's justified an eye for an eye, they attacked us we defended ourselves. That we should be proud of our Soldiers when they die because they die a Hero's death.
As I gaze upon the casket draped in American flags and flowers I wonder one question.
Does it matter?
A hero's death is still a death casting a gaze upon Paisley I can feel my own throat closing. I can barely catch my breath. Her face is twisted in agony, her blond hair pulled back into a tight bun she looks so grown for only ten years old. Death will do that it will change you in ways you won't even notice.
I wonder what she was like before this was she a child that ran wild laughed too loud or sang at the top of her lungs? Did she tell inappropriate jokes in church and giggle softly when caught before batting those gorgeous big Sapphire eyes and apologizing in that thick rich country accent?
It's hard to tell now she hasn't laughed in the two days I've been here, she hasn't said a word really just clung to Sylvie who seems to be the glue that this family hangs on to. It's a lot of pressure for one woman. Paisley's eyes are over run with tears, her fists clenched at her sides, I can't even began to know what she is thinking, or feeling. I remember how I felt when I came home from school to see the police at my door, to hear the words. "Son your father is dead, your mother is in jail." numb that's what I remember feeling most.
As a man who wants a child so bad some days it physically feels like I am being punched to death by the fists of God. I know how I feel watching a child grieve over her father, I was that child add five years to her age.
I am already picturing all the missing memories she is already missing out on making. The daddy daughter dances they will never share, the drives across the country to pick out colleges or the best fishing spots. The embarrassment of having her father standing on their front pouch shotgun in hand ready to shoot the young man as he escorts his daughter up the long driveway after her first date.
She's going to miss out on all those moments that make up a young girl's childhood fishin,' huntin,' fixin' her car with her daddy. She'll miss out on all the lessons a father is suppose to teach their little girls. How to be self- sufficient, she'll never find the security in another man's arms like those of her father's.
Father's teach their daughters how to be assertive without being a bully, they teach their daughter's quite strength, to know that expressing anger is okay it's healthy. Dad's teach their little girl's what to look for in a love interests someone who listens to them cares for them treats them with respect, dignity. They make them search deep inside to see the beauty inside of themselves, no man will love their little girl as hard as their daddy does.
Of course many little girls grow up without dad's and turn out perfectly healthy, happy. Those little girls maybe they had them for a short time and lost them in another way, maybe they never had them, almost all of them at some point though have wondered why don't I have a dad? Why can't I have a father to share my life with?
She'll find other people to fill her arms throughout her life's journey but she'll never have her father there though to wrap his arms around her as they share a dance on her wedding day, to give her away.
If anyone would ask her.
Does it matter if he died a Hero's death? I bet she would say No. I bet she would say all that matters is that she would want her daddy home. When she comes from school with homework so complex even grown men couldn't do it. I bet she would say she wants her dad there to wipe her tears away after the bullies pulled her hair, teased her pushed her down and called her mean names.
She'll wish for him there each night as her mommy tucks her into bed, she'll wonder why her daddy isn't there to blow goodnight kisses, belly tickles and read her bedtime stories.
Dying a hero won't take away her nightmares it won't give her peace of mind when she wakes up in the night screaming from her nightmares crying for her daddy to chase away the monsters. Only to find her arms empty aching lonely.
"I want my daddy!" Her screams wake me from my own thoughts. "Daddy, Daddy where are you?" Her voice cracks as her knees give out her arms stretched out to the heavens. All of our heartstrings are torn, shredded as we watch her cry. I don't think it matters to her how he died, just the fact that her hero is gone forever.
She doesn't understand things like war, tradition, pride, shooting people, all she knows is her life is forever altered. Her pain is real.
"I want my daddy!" Sylvie, Kennedy and Kristopher all race to pull her back as she lunges towards the coffin. I heard Sylvie gasp as her wrist is pinned between the casket and the screaming kicking ten year old.
My dad wasn't a hero when he died he was a coward who beat my mom, I; almost daily. He was someone who filled me with fear, anxiety and confusion on most days. Other days he was the man who taught me all I know about Carpentry how to build, plaster, cement. Those precious moments when he put down the damn beer bottles, stopped cursing and spent time being a dad, they mean the world to me. I felt like I mattered for those few hours, days.
When he was taken from me a part of me was relieved the monster was asleep he wouldn't hurt me or my mom anymore, another part of me however felt empty scared, confused and betrayed. At the end of the day he was my father, the only one I will ever get in this life.
Now I am left with a hole inside my chest for all those aching moments I will never get with him, for the man he might of become if he stopped his drinking got some help. So I know a little of what she is going through now the pain, confusion, anger it won't ever go away. Time will numb it but it'll never completely leave her.
I wonder how Andy's kids are doing now. It's been two years since I've talked to his widow Heather, the boys have got to be teens now. The day I notified her of his death will burn forever inside my mind. Her screams, as she fell to her knees cursing at me for getting him killed, like I needed anyone else to blame me. I carry that burden with me everyday. I still see Ben's eyes filled with anger, pain as he's screaming that being a firefighter got his dad killed, I can still feel little Griffin clutching my shirt as his tears drench me. The way Paisley is now doing to Sylvie who has somehow picked her up her aching wrist soothingly running circles across her small back.
Pastor McCleary's voice rings out mixed with the weeping sounds of family members, friends, his words are meant to bring peace, comfort but for Paisley, I can only imagine they bring anything but because no words can erase the pain she is feeling and will feel forever.
"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love,
Where there is injury, pardon
Where there is doubt, faith,
Where there is despair, hope,
Where there is darkness, light,
Where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much
seek to be consoled as to console,
not so much to be understood as to understand,
not so much to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
it is in dying that we awake to eternal life."
For many his words do bring a sense of peace Billy's mom is bent in prayer while tears still streak down her face, I see a light in her eyes, maybe she's seeing her son as he was in life as a boy a twisted grin across his face, eyes filled with mysterious. Maybe she's imagining him as we are taught to in church to remember the fallen as they are when they enter Heaven when they become angels.
If anyone has earned his rights to bare the wings of God's love, surely a Solider who dies in the line of duty has earned that right to heavenly light. Surely mercilessly he is home with our Lord. If he isn't I shudder to think about where the rest of us will go when we die.
Sylvie turns to me her eyes in a sea of grieving mist her arms must ache from holding Paisley she isn't an over weight girl but she is ten a little to big to be held like a toddler. Letting out a deep breath I go to her extending my arms which she graciously accepts as a jester to take Paisley.
My other arm tucks around her shoulders bringing her close I can smell her rich perfume. Feel her body tremble is it from the cold chill or the reality of the fact her final goodbye is approaching. I don't know all I know for sure is that it is my duty as her brother, her friend, her boss in many ways. To protect her comfort her. Isn't that what God is talking about when he says 'O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console?
No one wants to be a hero but sometimes the fight isn't ours to chose, sometimes the fight chooses us. We didn't attack America, we didn't kill thousands of people on that day seventeen years ago, that was done to us. Men, women like Billy, Chris, Jay Halstead and all the decorated Marines/ Firemen, Police and Paramedics standing here among us today, they were called to the fight by a voice greater than our own.
Today is about honoring those who gave the ultimate price for our freedom; Their lives. All over the Unites States Of America today mothers and fathers are burying children, Sons and daughters are saying goodbye to their parents, brothers, sisters are having to learn the hardest lesson they will ever be taught, no school, no church, no TV show can ever prepare them for.
Today is about Paisley, Kristopher who have to bury their hero, their father. I don't have the words to convey to them my deepest sympathies or my eternal gratitude for what their father represents. Billy isn't a superhero who wears capes and fly's from building to building, he doesn't have supernatural powers. He was simply a man who loved his family, his country his freedom and he fought for that right. Like millions of men, women are called to do every year.
Barack Obama's words echo in my mind as taps is started "Our nation owes a debt to its fallen heroes that we can never fully repay, but we can honor their sacrifice." the sad reality is that in this life our generation of children growing up will never not know someone who has died in this war against terrorism. I place my hand on his coffin as I close my eyes; silently I say a prayer of thanks, gratitude, asking for strength to help me guide Billy's cousin through this loss. A loss I fear she has yet to begun to truly feel.
"Lord make me that instrument of your love, peace, allow me to be your arms here on earth, allow Sylvie the strength to turn to me in her time of sorrow, grief, confusion. Give her the wisdom to know that asking for help is okay, for it is you who she shall turn to O' Lord, you who she will ask for guidance, solace. I ask of thee 'O Lord, guide her to my arms, Lord it is you who is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Please Lord don't let her beautiful spirit be crushed, she has a light to great to be diminished. In your name Jesus; I pray, Amen."
A/N: Please take a moment to remember our fallen heroes. Those who have died to give us our freedom. Let us honor them, thank them. We are free today because of their sacrifice. Freedom is never free -there is always blood involved.
Thank you to all who have reviewed, favored or simply taking the time to read. The response has been amazing, each positive review has made me smile. I have a few more chapters planned for her hometown visit one or two as part of Billy's funeral than I promise we will get to the DNA results and from there the action will start. How is everyone doing on the Chicago Fire break, I hate when they break. Though I get it's impossible to keep up with recording and I know they do their best. How did everyone like or hate the last episode? Hit me up at Mileycfan4eva on twitter or tattooed4uariandliz on IG. Also have you followed Monica Raymund's new official IG account? If not do it it's MonicaRaymund86.
Peace, Love till next chapter. Have a great week chihards.
