| 12 September 2006 Green and Gray I scooted out of the office a little early to beat the rush across the 14th Street Bridge. I managed to get there without much trouble, and drove to Ft. Myer, where I purchased a bouquet of red flowers. Then I drove around the perimeter of the cemetery to the public entrance, and secured a pass to drive my car in. I normally walk the mile or so back to the corner, but it was late and my legs hurt. The cemetery has been expanded with new fill and landscaping on the southern flank. I drove past the imposing red McClellan Gate, which had once marked the entrance to a much smaller Arlington. I passed the low granite of the Columbarium on my left, and turned down Arnold Drive to the 9/11 Memorial. I parked the car and grabbed my flowers. There was a woman in black and a young girl in gray standing near the three rows of stones that mark the resting place of those who were killed in the attack on the big building across the road. It was so raw when they were put to rest, and we walked down the hill, following the horse-drawn gun carriage from the old chapel at the fort. The red Virginia dirt was turned up, and the green sod was scraped back. Cranes worked on the damaged facade and collapsed floors of the building across the street. It is all green again. The building was renewed within the year, and now there is a white wall that rises, topped by a black fence. There will be a memorial there where the helipad was, but that will not be complete for another year or more. The flowers I purchased were for the ones I know, who are in the middle of the second row. I walked along the first row, noting the small stones that had been placed on some, and the flowers on others. Halfway down the row I stepped south two paces and was able to place my small tribute on one. Then I waited respectfully for the woman and her daughter who were looking at the stone between them. I excused myself and placed the rest of my flowers with those that had already been placed on the second grave. The woman spoke to me, asking if I was Navy. I said I was, or had been, and she gave a laugh, gesturing at the stone before her. "My husband was Army, and now he is surrounded by sailors." I looked at the name on the stone and asked her if that was her husband, and she said that it was. Then she asked if I was doing all right, and I grimaced. How could she ask me that? She was the widow. I told her I was, and told her I was sorry about her loss. She smiled, a little wistfully, and I apologized for navigating around her. I said it was good that the skies were gray, since it had been such a lovely day five years before. She said that was true, and that was what she told her husband that morning before he left for the office. "It is such a beautiful day." I thought that we were all moving by then, all of us to our fates on that day. I shook her hand, and then excused myself to walk across the rich green grass to the car. I put the top down, even though it was threatening to rain. The fresh air was welcome as I drove out, past the white stones and the green grass. Copyright 2006 Vic Socotra |