Admiration, Found

I don’t go to many funerals. I suppose it's a blessing the need to isn't there. I don’t really know what to expect from them. I don’t know their protocols. I don’t know their traditions. I’m typically not a sad person. I prefer to stay happy and positive. I was only there supporting my brother who worked with the deceased. I understand my brother and his coworkers’ emotions. But I prefer to make conscious decisions that avoid the scenarios that lend themselves to the possibility of negative feelings. I wouldn’t want my friends, family, and people I didn’t even know at my gloomy funeral crying for me. It sounds miserable. And I wasn’t looking forward to the melancholy morning.

I’m not particularly religious. I have always been more interested in how the ideologies differ than being devout to only one. I had the opportunity to take a couple of different religion courses during my undergrad. There I picked up general knowledge and respect for many of the main worldly religions. So, I had some knowledge of Catholicism before walking into St. Joseph's but, for the most part, it was all pretty new to me. The service, the numerous blessings, it all seemed like a different language to me. Partly, because most of it was in Latin. I think it was Latin. I assumed it was.

As I sat in the pew, surrounded by dress-uniformed officers, I watched the American flag draped casket be pushed by eight pallbearers. Slowly left foot. Slowly right foot. Four uniformed officers on the right. Four civilians on the left. They pushed it around the outer edge of the congregation to the end of the main aisle. There, the Priest instructed the pallbearers to remove and fold the American flag. Shortly after, they replaced it with the more traditional Catholic Pall. After a small blessing, they followed the Priest down the aisle. Slowly left foot. Slowly right foot. Gently guiding the casket.

Of all things I don't understand about funerals, eulogies are high on the list. There's almost this pseudo-standard for the speaker to meet. The belief that all who die are righteous, is hard for me to believe. I’m also not a huge fan of public speaking anyway. The thought of getting up in front of what seemed to be a few hundred people wasn’t for me. But when the Priest called to begin the remembrance, the first speaker to give his eulogy, had put some perspectives in place for me.

It was one of the pallbearers dressed in a civilian suit. As he walked up to the podium, he side-eyed the widow, gave her a little wink along with a grin from the corner of his mouth. I could tell from the way she titled her head at him, that she gave him the “what are you about to do” look.

“Good morning. I’d like to begin with a quote from a song, that after speaking with Maria it was, probably rightfully, decided that it may not be completely appropriate to play at a viewing. So, we nixed it from the playlist last night. But given who we are here honoring, it would be a catastrophic disservice to not send him away with it:

“Let the bodies hit the floor

Let the bodies hit the floor

Let the bodies hit the floor

Push me again

This is the end”

Yes, to those laughing, you must recognize it. For those who didn’t, that was “Bodies” by Drowning Pool.

My name is Thomas Walker. I had the pleasure of serving in the 173rd with Jackson, and the honor of knowing him as my best friend. In 2008, I joined the unit he was already a part of. And since I have known him, dropping bodies has been Jack’s M.O. Him and I, along with a hand full of other guys, quickly became best friends. Faster even, after that, we became brothers. In 2010, our unit was deployed to Afghanistan. It wasn’t too long after our return, my path led me to other units. Jackson would stay in the 173rd for the entirety of his career. He went on to deploy three more times. Once to Iraq, and two more to Afghanistan. Along with many other badges and ribbons, he earned the Combat Infantryman Badge, Expert Infantryman’s Badge, a couple of AAMs, ARCOMs, and, somehow, I had to read this twice, a Good Conduct Medal. I think, since we all know this guy, we’re going to go ahead and rename this one to “Just didn’t get caught medal.” I’m sure that if the Army gave out BAMF medals, he would have a couple of silver leaves on it as well.

Right around 2017 – 2018, Jackson was transitioning into civilian life and moving his family to Florida. He lived with me and mine for some time. And as close as we already were from the military, I feel like this is the time period our relationship took off to new heights. He was the very definition of ride-or-die, no questions asked, lead me, follow me, or get the F out of my way kind of guy. He was my range buddy. We have spent countless rounds and hours together at the ranges. He was my gaming buddy. As many hours as we spent on the range, it was probably matched online. He was my Marvel movie first-day premiere buddy. I now have to revisit my Z-Day plans, because he was an integral piece to our survival. And, most importantly, there was not a single person I trusted my two kids’ lives with more than him. There is nothing more honorable in a friend than knowing he is willing to lay it on the line for your family. Jack was that friend.

I was lucky enough to be living with him when his higher calling of dropping bodies led him to work for the County. Where, he may or may not have continued to drop bodies. I don’t know, but I’ve heard stories. I especially remember the stories he would tell Monica and I as we would all be standing in the kitchen, catching up on our days. There was a short time in the beginning where he really questioned if this line of work was something he wanted to do. But he was so good at it. I saw it and it wasn’t long before he grew to love it. Just recently he was telling me how excited he was to be getting promoted to Sergeant. And when he got that, how excited he was about the opportunities that would open up afterwards. Opportunities we all know, he would have excelled in.

The last memory I have of him was from my youngest son’s last birthday, only two months ago. Jackson and Maria stayed later after everybody left. We were all just sitting in the living room, catching up, watching the Chargers game. For some dumb reason, Jackson was a huge fan of the Chargers. I don’t remember who they were playing but by half time they were up big. That’s when Maria and Jackson decide to leave so he can catch the second half at their place. He had made the comment, something along the lines of “f’n chargers probably going to F this one up.” Well, they f’d it up and lost the game. The next morning, I texted him, kind of poking fun at him and his team. His reply, and the very last text I have from him, “shut the f up”. In some strange way, it’s the perfect last text message. We always gave each other hell, the way brothers do.

He was more than my best friend; he was a father. He leaves behind 4 kids. To Nicky, Nathanial, Sam, and Staci. I don’t know how to express in words how sorry I am for your loss. Nobody will ever be able to replace your dad. But I promise you, there is not a man here that will hesitate to fill in where he can. None of you should have to want for anything.

More than a father; he was a husband. Maria, in the time you two have been together, I watched my best friend grow into a better man in all the ways. A better man physically. A better man mentally. A better man emotionally. Well, maybe just a slightly better man emotionally. Just recently, a better man spiritually. He even dressed better. Which had to be the largest challenge for you. All of that was because of you. He loved you so much. I could tell how much he loved you. It was in his voice when he spoke about you. I could also tell how much he feared you. That was in his eyes. I saw that the night after the Rays game when I kept him out longer than he promised you he would be out. When you came into his life, I knew I didn’t have to worry about him as much. And definitely not for the reasons I was worried. For that, and all the things you did for him, thank you. I am a little more at peace with his death knowing that he died a happy man.

As long as Jackson and I have been living here, we have always talked about getting all of our old military family together in one place. A sort of reunion. We never could get everybody all together. One or two, here and there, but never everybody. Jackson always said how much he wished he could get everybody there. And as I sat at my dinner table last night, surrounded by all of our dumb friends, laughing at each other’s stupid jokes, reminiscing about younger days, I realized something: You did it, Jack. You finally got us all together. It just breaks my heart this what it took.

I don’t know what Heaven looks like. I like to think it’s unique to each of us and that God allows us to create our own Heaven. Whatever Heaven is like, Jack, I hope God has found a way for you to keep dropping bodies up there.

As Paratroopers, they tell us that we don’t ever really die, we just slip away. Knowing you Jackson, your knees are in the breeze with a 240B attached to your hip, burning your way to Heavens LZ.

I love you. We love you, and we are all going to miss you. Until Valhalla, Brother. Rest in Peace.”

I’m not sure I have ever seen so many people smile and cry at the same time. Maybe it was the cracks in his voice during the delivery, the timing of his jokes, or the realness to his story, but I realized that my apprehensions about funerals may have been a bit misguided. Ignorant, even.

It became clear to me that this funeral wasn’t just for mourning the deceased. It was also for the ones who will love and miss him. I’m not sure why I have always had such negative outlooks for these, but it all became clear: I needed to hear what he had to say as much as he needed to say it.

It was obvious that the bond he had with the deceased was not superficial. There was a deep connection there. It was made more obvious when the speaker stepped down from off the podium and the widow was already out of her seat, walking quickly to him with her arms out wide. The way they embraced filled me with so much admiration and empathy. I understand feeling empathetic. But admiration? I never thought this was something I would feel at a funeral. It shocked me. But I realized I admired these people. I admired the way they loved him. I admired the way they knew they still had each other. And I admired how much he will be missed.

These are the types of relationships I aspire to build.