Not knowing whether readers here are all familiar with a Committal Service, I thought I'd fill that in a bit. "The service itself is meant to commit the person to their final resting place, which is where it gets its name. The rite of committal is traditionally the final rite of three associated with a Christian funeral."  (funeralguide.co.uk) This is a really good resource for quite a lot of information about planning a funeral. There are a number of them--but this one was well laid out. I didn't have to use it much, as the funeral home site gave us most of what we needed.

The viewing was brief, quite intentionally, set up to simply allow the family to see Daddy's body. None of them would have otherwise had the opportunity. I felt good about this decision. By procession, we left the funeral home to the grave site. 

Daddy had full military honors. Two sailors greeted the white hearse as it arrived at the grave site. Situated near a flag pole, it was lowered to half-staff. The pallbearers included my husband, my son, my two half brothers, my cousin, and a family friend.  It was a chilly and rainy autumn day, a bit cool even for Ohio. I guess it matched my mood a bit. Nonetheless, as I have always known them to be--the precision of the honor guard and the military members was perfectly and beautifully executed.  The VFW provided the gun salute (I preemptively plugged my ears) and the playing of Taps. The two sailors folded the flag that had draped the coffin, which I was later presented. 

"On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Navy, and a grateful Nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service."

The language, always the same (with the exception of the branch of service) felt very personal and special. I had seen and heard it many times in person or on TV---but this time it was different. It was for my Daddy. The remarks from his pastor in Zanesville were thoughtful and heartfelt---but the formality of this military ritual was something I knew Daddy would appreciate. 

We left town that day headed to Kentucky to visit William's aunt in Lexington. Before heading out, however, I asked him to go back to the cemetery so that I could render my final farewell, but mostly to make sure I remembered the location of the site.  When we returned, the tent was gone, chairs removed and all remnants of a service had disappeared; all but a freshly dug grave and the two Fall floral sprays which were placed on either side of the coffin during the ceremony. Even the flag had been returned to its full height. The grave was next to my Mom's 20-year old marker. It was a reminder that once Daddy's was placed, I needed to make a trip back or minimally pay someone to clean that up. I think they both would appreciate that. William, placing his hands in the wet earth picking out pieces of what looked like shells or sharp rocks and tossing them aside, was a moment in time I will not forget. Another small act of kindness and love. I appreciated that.