A fellow Soldier. I didn't know him too well, as I've only been here a couple of months. But in any case, a funeral is not for the dead. It's for the living. The dead don't care any more. The living care. And when the widow looked up and saw her family in the middle of the churched, flanked by rows of Soldiers on either side, it did her good.
The guy died of cancer. He was diagnosed in early September, and died two and a half weeks later. He was healthy as a horse. Didn't do stupid crap to his body. Worked out religiously. One year away from retirement. Gone. Less than a month from "Hey, I don't feel too well." to pushing up daisies.
Folks, love the people you're with every single day. Love them as if you won't get a chance to love them tomorrow. Because life is funny. You can do everything right and end up dead before 60. Winston Churchill drank like a fish, smoked cigars all day long, and lived into his 80's. It's a crap shoot.
Every time I leave the house, I tell the wife that I love her. That way, should lighting strike me on my way down the road, the very last words my wife will have ever heard from my mouth are "I love you." I don't think I'm going to die today, but God might have other plans, and I don't want the last words my wife to hear from me to be a grocery list or some trivial stuff.
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