One Beautiful Day
June 6, 2007
LaVerna “Tweek” VanDan, a Veteran’s wife
The following was written about the funeral of Corporal Francis (Frank) M. Trussel deceased on May 26, 2007 as a result of an IED explosion set by the enemy. He served with D Company, 1/12th Cavalry, 3rd BCT, First Cavalry Division, in Iraq as a tank operator. This was his first tour of duty.
It was a beautiful, early June day. Perfect. But Alan and I didn’t relish the day’s activity. We were going to a funeral. An important funeral. A sad funeral.
It was a good thing that we were meeting Alan’s 12th Cav ‘brother’ Allan Lynch. Allan would somehow make this day go by a little easier. Being with another combat veteran would somehow lighten the heavy emotional load.
We got to Danville, Illinois a little too early and the funeral director guided us to a pizza buffet down the street. Even though Alan and I live two hours drive from Danville, we had been to this funeral home before for our next-door neighbor’s funeral just a couple of years ago. That seemed a very odd coincidence. It’s a nice place. A typical funeral home. A very typical city.
When we saw a group of uniformed soldiers enter the pizza place, we knew what they were there to do. Alan and I smiled knowingly in their direction. Those brief smiles of acknowledgement reminded me of the scene in We Were Soldiers when the Hal Moore character is waiting for the troops to begin their deployments by catching the awaiting buses in the dark of night. The same look of mutual encouragement and private relief. We would get through the next few hours together. As each person quietly entered the restaurant, the same nodding small smile. This was not party central. Just a quick bite to sustain the next few hours ahead. Meal over, it was time to cross the street back to the business at hand.
We met with soldiers based out of Fort Leonard Wood assigned this duty of honor. We also met several soldiers from Fort Hood. I noticed Captain Greg Royse, the 1/12th Cavalry Rear Detachment commander and SSG Jesus Grajales, who was the Escort Officer with the CAV Patches on their sleeves were ‘sandwiches’--- wearing identical emblems on each shoulder. This is the sign that both had been in combat with the 1st Cav and are currently assigned to the 1st Cav. They wore the familiar Stetsons as did veterans Alan VanDan and Allan Lynch, both who were deployed into combat with the 12th Cav many years ago. Allan pensively recalled that, in fact, this very month was the 40th Anniversary of his 12th Cav service. Alan, my husband, also noted that this very week was the 38th anniversary of his freedom-bird flight home. I could read Alan’s mind as he thought about that. So lucky to be home. So very lucky to be home.
By that time, the Patriot Guard Cyclists had arrived and were standing at parade rest with flags unfurled as family and friends arrived for this last trip to Frank’s final rest. The Patriot Guard gave that same knowing, sad look and faint smile as they saw the two Al’s headgear and emblems. They knew that both of these men who accompanied me had walked through the same kind of valley-of-the-shadow of death as many of them had done, and yet they lived. The silent flag-draped coffin in the other room reminded all that some were not so fortunate. But we were not there to reminisce about those days of service in the First Cav. We were there to pay respects and honor to one who gave it all.
The folks in the pews in the chapel where the flag-draped casket laid looked like ordinary folk. They exchanged brief greetings and I could see their faces were heavy with shock and the lines of sleeplessness. Today was the day they had all dreaded.
To the rear and on both sides of the casket were floral arrays in red, white and blue. Hanging over the casket was a portrait of Frank, turned slightly in the pose with a serious look on his face yet a twinkle in his young eyes, wearing his Army fatigues. He looked fit as a fiddle. His mouth and jaw were set resolutely--- his determination and toughness shined from his image. He seemed fully present there, just waiting for everyone to sit.
Music began to play from somewhere above us—apparently a favorite song, Watching You by Rodney Atkins. I had never heard this song before. I will have to download that one into my itunes library, I thought.
Frank had a difficult childhood, and that was noted by the first speaker (a man who wore a uniform I didn’t recognize). This man had convinced Frank that joining the military could be a good option for this young man who’d had such a hard-knock life. He spoke about Frank as a father would-- full of pride and sorrow at the very same time. By the end of his eulogy, there were very few dry eyes.
The message by a local pastor was a Christian one. I took note of one of my favorite Bible verses that reminds me of the Cav whenever I read it. It was chosen as one of the texts. Psalms 33. It seems as though those words were written especially for those like Frank, Cav Soldiers. The pastor spoke about how much Frank loved his family. How committed he was--- how he had chosen this path for all the right reasons. And he instructed all of us dabbing at our eyes in the pews about how to think on his willing sacrifice. Francis M. Trussel had given all. His children, ages three and two, were too young to understand. Dressed in matching red, white, and blue, they just wanted to play. Frank’s widow, Jodi, was held tenderly by a female relative who I assume was her mother. She was crying profusely. I thought to myself: Good! Let those tears flow! Mourn this young man who loved you and is gone! This is the place; this is the time! Let it go! You’ve earned that right and you are among people who fully understand.
Members of the honor guard presented his Bronze Star, his Purple Heart, his Good Conduct Medal. Most of us cried right along with his widow. Yes, this is the right time and place. Then came the final favorite song. This one I knew: An American Soldier. “I’ll bear that cross with honor ‘cause Freedom don’t come free,” to quote Toby Keith. Yes, this sounded like a summary of exactly what Frank’s life had been about.
Funeral over, we moved like wooden zombies out into the beautiful day again. Flowers were blooming everywhere. A light breeze stirred the huge flag that the fire department had raised above the parking lot exit. The Patriot Guard continued their vigil holding their long line of flags. When it was time to move the coffin to the hearse, the guard snapped to attention. They know how to give honor. That is when I caught sight of the most incredible thing….. the thing I’d heard about which had started in Texas and has spread across the United States like a prairie tornado. People with flags were standing along the sides of the roads. Beau Coup people.
We snaked out of the parking lot and realized that this breathtaking sight was miles long in duration. Through a veil of tears we witnessed this true hero’s honor. The kind of welcome home that every good soldier richly deserves. There were school kids, men in work clothes, hats over hearts; folks wrapped in beach towels who dripped dry in the afternoon sun, taking time from fun to say a long good-bye. Some of the businesses had changed their advertising signage to read something about Frank. Kids stuck paper cups in their schoolyard fences saying WE LOVE YOU, CPL. TRUSSEL. Old people in wheelchairs, flags gently held, sadly watched the hearse and the caravan go by in silence. No one smiled. This was not a happy parade. But the quiet and heartfelt tribute went on and on for mile after mile. White, black, young, old. Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing and become part of this last good-bye.
At every intersection, there was one of Danville’s finest in full, spotless uniform.
It was then that it suddenly dawned on me: This is why Frank went to war! It was for these folks here. He did his duty for all of them, for his kids and widow, and for me and the two Al’s. And we, the people, truly appreciated that duty. I had started this day with the cynical notion that few people really cared about those serving in uniform so far away. I realized that this demonstration proved me completely wrong. Here was someone who’d given his all and the people who he’d done it for showed up to say thanks. What a sight! It melted my heart to witness this.
We finally reached the very small country cemetery (Oak Hill) where Frank was to be buried next to his grandfather. The pipers played a mournful dirge of Amazing Grace. The uniformed soldiers moved in complete unison. Even though we were warned, the 21 gun salute still made me startle. I would make a terrible soldier. Taps couldn’t have sounded more appropriate. Yes, all can rest now--- at least there in Danville, Illinois. The flag was folded with all respect to protocol and handed to the grieving widow. She was handed several other mementoes from various groups, small tokens of esteem and appreciation, things that she can hopefully hold onto. Heart-to-heart. Her very young face was stained with tears. I only hope that she could somehow realize how much we all wanted to help her and we grieved with her. On the way home, both Alan and I talked about how we were so glad we went.
It was an honor to attend your funeral, Corporal Trussel. Semper Paratus. Alan and I didn’t know you in life, but we know you now. You were an American soldier. A darn good American soldier. Lots of people loved you and cared about you.
If you want to know Frank, just listen to what was played at his funeral. And breathe deep the soft, sweet American air the next time you experience a beautiful day. Frank helped secure that day for you. Remember him.
Yes, this was a picture-perfect day. One that we will never, ever forget.