They drove to Arlington on Saturday morning, going straight to
Chris’ burial site. The parents were emotional, with their memories of
the funeral service still fresh. Rafferty wore his uniform, came to
attention, and saluted when he arrived. The sun cast long shadows
across the neatly aligned rows of headstones. There was the distant
hum of a lawnmower, with the scent of freshly cut grass from where
it had recently gone. The mom bent over and placed a bouquet of white
lilies at the base of the headstone, lingering a moment longer to run
her fingers over her son’s name. The dad embraced her when she rose.
Rafferty stood back a few steps, remembering his brother as his
role model, his friend, and his hero, especially so now. He had a lump
in his throat, but he managed to keep his emotions in check. Like
Chris, he knew much about what war looked like, how it sounded,
how random it could be, how it wounded and maimed and killed. He
thought about what Chris’ final moments might have been as he led
his soldiers in an attack. He had a momentary feeling of guilt for
thinking such grisly thoughts while solemnly standing at his brother’s
cemetery plot. But then he decided that he was only responding in a
manner that he and Chris had in common, as fellow infantrymen who
had felt the sting of battle, in contrast to what he would’ve felt if he
hadn’t been to war. He and his brother were warriors, bonded forever
as such, in which one died fighting, the other nearly so. First and
foremost, he would remember Chris as a soldier who left it all on the
battlefield. He glanced around at the headstones too numerous to
count, and thought of the grief each of those families had felt, just as
his was still feeling theirs. He was also warmed by the thought of a
nation that would honor their sacrifices with such a beautiful, sacred
piece of ground. Chris was in the right place, he knew. He belonged
here, among his many other brothers. He can rest here with some of
the best and brightest this nation has ever produced.
As they prepared to leave, Rafferty saluted again, his heart full and
his hope that somehow Chris would feel the deep respect his younger
brother felt for him.
His dad then took the family to the grave of Rafferty’s grandfather,
Taylor, who had struggled to reconcile a split with his own father,
Conor Rafferty, who had fought with Confederate General Robert E.
Lee in the Army of Northern Virginia.
They had lunch at a restaurant in Georgetown, and when Rafferty’s
father tried to pay the bill, he was told that a retired Marine colonel
seated alone at a corner table had already arranged to pick up their
check. Rafferty went over and shook the man’s hand and thanked him,
giving him a thumbs up and a “Semper Fi” as he turned to leave.
