The Hardest Journey Home by Gaunky Donleigh O.;

Author:Gaunky, Donleigh O.; [Gaunky, Donleigh O.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Westholme Publishing

FOUR

Thanksgiving

Sparta, Wisconsin

24 November 2005

Mom was still looking at Alex, with my brothers, Dad, and stepfather close by. I took a step back to talk, once again, with the funeral home director. I told him that I needed him to review some forms, and add his part to the official record. This included things like whether or not more makeup was going to be needed. We stood there for a few minutes while he looked over the documents. Ultimately, his assistant, Jeff, the man who picked me up in the hearse in Milwaukee, was the one who filled the documentation out and signed his name to the forms. By the time this was done, everyone was moving back out into the hallway and the foyer. I got some more hugs, and one or two statements that still chill me to the bone. The basic sentiment of them was this: “Thank you for bringing him home.” It gave and still gives me chills because, for a long time, I felt that I hadn’t. Certainly I hadn’t brought him home in the way everyone would have liked, hoped, and preferred. If I had, he wouldn’t have been lying there, in a box, covered in an American flag. Despite the chill, I said nothing, merely nodded or redirected conversation elsewhere. The first question was where everyone was going to sleep. Bob would head back to La Crosse, and would meet us later in the day, at Mom’s. Dave said that his (then) wife Dana was already waiting for him at Dad’s house. For the time being, that was where I would head as well with Dave, but not quite right away. As we exited the building to get into cars and go where we needed to go, Dave stopped for a second. He turned to me, and then said, “You mind going for a bit of a drive?”

“Sure,” I replied, as we took off. For a while, we just drove in the snow, commenting on how cold it was compared to where we had both just come from. After about a half hour or so, we ended up out by a field not too far from Dad’s place. Dave parked with the engine idling, so that we could keep the heat going. Then he turned to me.

“So, I’ve got some questions to ask, if you don’t mind and can answer them.”

“Depends on what you ask,” I said.

For about an hour, we discussed what the general situation was where I had just left, and what I knew, and could speak of, about what happened to Alex. According to my escort mission orders, I was not supposed to talk to the family members about what I knew of the injuries or the situation that had resulted in the death of their loved one. Because most escorts are just individuals selected for the task, and often have no connection to the families, this is a sensible rule easily followed. However, because I had seen what I had

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