It had rained in the night and the morning dawned cold and gray and overcast. I was still recovering from pneumonia and the exhaustion build-up sat heavily on my chest. But there was a soldier boy on his way home for the last time and a Mama who needed to see - physically see - that she was not facing that tragedy alone. So we drove to the route and parked and stood by the road awaiting the processional. I don't know the exact count but there had to be a few thousand of us strung out along the 8 1/2 mile journey from the airport to the funeral home. More watched live coverage on the local station, narrated by a noticeably shaken anchorwoman. They came down the busiest street in town around the middle of the day on a Saturday. Instead of the usual snarl of traffic complete with honking horns and impatient drivers there was eerie silence, broken only by sirens of the police cars and motorcycles racing from stoplight to stoplight ahead of the convoy, making way. Cars came to a stop quietly. Veterans on motorcycles formed an honor guard followed up by firetrucks and ambulances. The family followed in vans and cars. The hearse slowly rolled by, flag draped casket visible in the back. Some waved flags, some stood with hands raised, some saluted, some placed hands over hearts. Most unashamedly crying. All of us just stood there. Nothing else could be done. The beloved 22-year-old hometown football star with the big smile and bigger heart had been lost to our community and all we could do was stand there. But for that day, in that moment, it was enough.
I wish I could say that we always do that as a community - that we regularly stand up for one another - that we put aside our personal opinions and preferences and share one another's joys and sorrows. But we don't. We rail and holler and duke it out on the Facebook. We honk and gesture when somebody gets in our way. We dismiss those with whom we disagree. What I learned standing there along the side of the road that day is that we don't have to. We can do better. We must. And we know it is possible, now, thanks to an unwitting hero who died in Syria and brought a community in North Carolina together for just a few minutes on a Saturday in January. Let's not let this lesson go to waste. Let's honor the soldier by honoring one another. It's the least - and the most - we can do. Selah.
Specialist Antonio Isaac Devante’ Moore, US Army
May 4, 1997 - January 24, 2020
Thank you for your service
Rest in Peace
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