Death and funerals
I must say, I don't like death. Nor do I relish the funerals.
Those of heros, those of lessers.
I thought to title this rant with "hanging", though I don't like that either unless it's a buck upside down on its way to becoming steaks and stew.
Two "heros" that come to mind are one held dear by the Sunnis (theirs, not mine), and one named Hunk-es-ni, also reviled. Both had counted many coup in their times. Hunk-es-ni was seen as an enemy by those that wished to take his lands. He was a great Sioux chief.
He had made many enemies, including the Crows. He earned his membership into the warrior's society, the Strong Hearts, when he allowed his Crow opponent to take the first shot, and it ripped through his buffalo hide shield to lodge in his left foot. Hunk-es-ni's shot found its mark, a heart, though he walked with a limp for the rest of his days.
And though he was held as a prisoner of war at Fort Randall for two years, upon his release in 1883,he never gave up the hopes of freedom for his people, nor his desire to return to Grand River.
After years of wise rule, his little cabin was surrounded by 38 "policemen" commanded by Lieutenant Henry Bull Head, at daybreak on December 15, 1890. When awakened from his slumber, he said twice that he was not going.
So, he was shot then and there. Hunk-es-ni, rider of the gray horse, leader of his people died. He has come to be know by the name the whitemen gave him, Sitting Bull. His memory remains within the hearts of those that hold to his courage and sacrifice. His people remember.
Today, I watched the funeral of an ex-president. His funeral reminded me of my father's. They both were alike in many ways.
Both were World War II veterans, both Episcopalians. The same prayers were said, "...and give him peace, through Jesus Christ our Lord. amen".
Both men went to their burials in black hearses, flags flying on the front bumpers. Though the ones on my dad's flew off on the way from the church to the cemetary, and Mac (who had been Eisenhower's driver in Europe) had to stop the procession to put them back in place, cussing while we laughed. Dad would have loved it.
The church's names were different, one was Grace, one was Trinity.
One of them will have an aircraft carrier named for him, with all the expected missions of war. The other will only have his spirit of honesty, truth, and freedom endure, as his message was about peace.
One had handsome soldiers provide a 21 gun salute. The other had two little grandsons fire their bb guns beside his grave in tribute. Each will get one of his purple hearts. Tri folded flags.
Oh the funerals, those of heros and those of lessers.
Funny in a way that they all end at the same place. As my dad once told me, it's over when the last mourner grabs the final handful of dirt, tosses it in the hole and walks away saying, "What a nice guy! What a nice guy!"
Heros and lessers..."and give them peace, and give them peace!" amen
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