Not forgotten

What seems like a lifetime ago, I dedicated my service in Iraq to the memory of Mike Stokely. I got this e-mail from his dad today:

On August 24, 2005, at approximately 5:00 p.m., I went to Hartsfield Atlanta to meet the most important flight I had ever met. I went alone, wearing a favorite blue blazer, grey pants, and red tie with navy stripes – the same I had worn to a prayer vigil for the Georgia National Guard 48th Brigade held by the Governor at the State Capitol in Atlanta a week earlier. It was an outfit that I felt very comfortable and fit me “good” and respectful dress for the passenger I was meeting.

As I stood in the office of the US Airways air cargo office and watched through the glass office door to the cargo bay, a motor tram pulled forward to the front of the air cargo hanger and stopped. Two Sergeants in dress uniform stepped forward as the cargo cart stopped. One Sergeant had come in on the flight I was meeting and pulled out paperwork and with the other Sergeant started comparing the paperwork with that of the crate on the air cargo tram. Once satisfied, they broke the shipping seals and began to remove the crate, revealing a casket with a box on top.

The two Sergeants carefully removed the contents of the box and as they did, in the best way I knew how to do, having never been properly trained, I came to attention and saluted as they unfolded an American Flag. I remained at attention and full salute, tears streaming down my face as the two Sergeants were ever so meticulous as they drapped the American Flag over the casket. Pain stabbed my heart even as it swelled with pride. An office full of people who were at that moment busy with the typical noise of an office suddenly became quiet and I could feel their eyes watching me. For the next few minutes, not a sound could be heard as the office staff seemingly froze in place with me, tears now dropping off my cheek and onto my shoulders and lapel. Then the flag drapped casket was loaded in a hearse and I crisply ended my salute as the two Sargeants then turned and saw me. Their eyes and nods of approval were reassuring.

I then walked outside to get fresh air, collect myself and called my wife, Retta. As she answered the phone, I said to her, tears welling in my voice, “Our boy is home.” We sobbed together a few moments. She was worried and asked if I would be OK, for she loved him as her own and we had never been us without him. She knew I would be, but had to hear me say I would. Then, I got in the hearse to make a thirty plus mile ride to the funeral home, a route taken many days over may years when I took my boy home after visitation weekends, holidays, and summers. Every mile had a memory, and a new welling of tears inside, but I kept them in as the Funeral Home Director drove. While I talked to conceal my heart breaking inside and to keep nervousness at bay, I was thinking of this time or that time with my boy at various points along the route. Too many memories to even begin to share in this writing, but a king’s treasure of beautiful memories from a toddler to a grown man just married and about to go off to war.

Then, the ride was over – my last ride taking my boy home. It was time to share him with others. My boy had come home a man’s man who was a fallen warrior. He gave as much as he had to give to his God, Family, Duty, Honor and especially his Country. In return, he asked for nothing.

Even now, I wince and cry as I think about that August 24th evening. Privileged to say the least to be there and have that time with my boy, and never to forget.

Robert Stokely

proud dad SGT Mike Stokely

KIA by IED 16 Aug 05 at 2:20 a.m. near Yusufiyah south of Baghdad

A man who lived for a just cause and died just because…John 15:13 no greater love