I just wanted to get  the day over with and go down to Smokey's.  Sneaking a look at my watch,  I saw the time, 1655.  Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates  are closed for the day.  Full dress was hot in the August  sun.  Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same  level--both too high.  
  
  I saw the car pull into  the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked  factory-new.  It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's  pace.  An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about four or five bunches as best I  could tell.  
  I couldn't help  myself.  The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter  taste:  'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my  hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right  now!'  But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.  
  Kevin would lock the  'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make it to  Smokey's in time.  
  I broke post  attention.  My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step  and the pain went up a notch.  I must have made a real military  sight:  middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in  marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty  minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.  
  I stopped in front of  her, halfway up the walk.  She looked up at me with an old woman's  squint.  
  'M a'am,may I assist you in any way?'  
  She took long enough to  answer.  
  'Yes, son.  Can you carry these  flowers?  I seem to be moving a tad slow these days.'  
  'M y pleasure, ma'am.'  Well,  it wasn't too much of a lie.  
  She looked  again.  'Marine, where were  you stationed?'  
  ' Vietnam,  ma'am.  Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.'  
  She looked at me  closer.  'Wounded in action, I  see.  Well done, Marine.  I'll be as quick as I can.'  
  I lied a little  bigger:  'No hurry, ma'am.'  
  She smiled and winked  at me.  ' Son, I'm 85-years-old  and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this  done.  Might be the last time I can do this.  My name's  Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time.'  
  'Yes, ma 'am.  At your service.'  
  She headed for the  World War I section, stopping at a stone.  She picked one of the flowers  out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone.  She murmured  something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918.  
  She turned away and  made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one  stone.  I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her  cheek.  She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X.Davidson, USMC, 1943.  
  She went up the row a  ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944.  
  She paused for a  second.  'Two more, son, and  we'll be done'  
  I almost didn't say  anything, but, 'Yes,  ma'am.  Take your time.'  
  She looked confused. 'Where's the Vietnam section, son?  I seem to have lost my way.'  
  I pointed with my  chin.  'That way, ma'am.'  
  'Oh!' she chuckled  quietly.  'Son, me and old age  ain't too friendly.'  
  She headed down the  walk I'd pointed at.  She stopped at a couple of stones before she  found the ones she wanted.  She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel  Wieserman, USMC, 1970.  She stood  there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out.  
  'OK, son, I'm finished.  Get me back to my car  and you can go home.'  
  'Yes, ma'am.  If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?'  
  She paused.  
  'Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel  were our sons.  All killed in action, all marines.'  
  She  stopped.  Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't  know.  She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully.  
  I waited for a polite  distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting  by the car.  
  'Get to the 'Out' gate quick.  I have something I've  got to do.'  
  Kevin started to say  something, but saw the look I gave him.  He broke the rules to get  us there down the service road.  We beat her.  She hadn't made  it around the rotunda yet.  
  'Kevin, stand at attention next to the  gatepost.  Follow my lead.'  I  humped it across the drive to the other post.  
  When the Cadillac came  puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the  gate, I called in my best gunny's voice:  'TehenHut!  Present Haaaarms!'  
  I have to hand it to  Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention and a salute that would  make his DI proud.  
  She drove through that  gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for  service rendered to her country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice.  
  I am not sure, but I  think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
 
  Instead of 'The End,' just think of 'Taps.' 

  As a final thought on  my part, let me share a favorite prayer: 'Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at  home or overseas.  Hold them in your loving hands and protect them  as they protect us.'  
  Let's all keep those  currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts. They are  the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy. 

  'In God We Trust.' Sorry about your  monitor; it made mine blurry too!  
  If we ever forget that  we're one nation under God, then we will be a  nation gone under!