Honor

In my late twenties, I joined the Army National Guard and completed both basic training and Advanced Individual Training (AIT) at Ft. Jackson in South Carolina. Shortly after returning home, I became a full-time member of the Connecticut Army National Guard, serving as the Unit Clerk for the 238th. My duties included handling all clerical tasks for the unit, such as processing pay, preparing paperwork for promotions and reviews, and arranging travel for both full-time and reserve members.

My father served full-time in the National Guard and retired as a Lieutenant Colonel. I grew up watching him head off to work each day in uniform. I remember him shining his boots at the kitchen table and carefully maintaining his dress greens with pride. I have many photos of my parents dressed up for the military functions they attended, which were usually required for him. Even though I know they didn’t particularly enjoy those events, they always participated with grace and style.

I’d like to say I joined the Guard because of my father, but that wouldn’t completely true. Looking back, while he definitely influenced me, it wasn’t the main reason I decided to enlist. I’ve always been, and still am, incredibly proud of him for his dedication and service, especially in those later years when politics—both local and national—made it tough for him to do his job.

Alongside my clerical duties at the 238th, I served with four other full-time Guard members as part of the Honor Guard. The Honor Guard’s role is to honor a deceased veteran with a ceremony of gratitude and a final salute in recognition of their service. Families can request the presence of the Honor Guard at a gravesite if their loved one passed away while on active duty or had served as a veteran in active or reserve status.

Most of the time, the ceremonies were for elderly veterans and, unfortunately, were sparsely attended. Whether there were five or fifty people present, the Honor Guard carried out the same ritual: Taps were played*, and the American flag was taken from the coffin, carefully folded, and presented to the veteran’s family. If requested, a rifle volley would also be performed*. In the two-plus years I served as Unit Clerk, I must have been part of more than 30 of these ceremonies, yet after all these years, one in particular still lingers in my mind.

We attended the funeral of a young military man, with around a hundred family members and friends gathered at the gravesite. After Taps played, a young boy suddenly ran from the crowd, sobbing uncontrollably. A woman, likely his mother, followed to comfort him. His cries of grief and sorrow were heartbreaking to witness. It’s tragic for someone so young to bear such pain.

We were in our dress uniforms, representing and honoring the US Army, and it wouldn't have been appropriate to ‘break rank’ to comfort the boy, his mother, or anyone else there. Being a witness to such pain, present but unable to step in, was incredibly hard for me.

Looking back on that day, I remember telling myself and others that it was too hard for me to witness such pain, and that if possible, I no longer wanted to serve in the Honor Guard. While I could still be called upon if needed, they surprisingly agreed to my request and only assigned me when it was absolutely necessary.

Not long after that young veteran's funeral, I left my full-time position as a Unit Clerk but stayed in the Army National Guard. I ended up serving for only nine years in total, realizing it wasn’t an environment I enjoyed or one where I felt I could truly thrive.

All these years later, my military service feels like just a small chapter of my life. Since then, I’ve grown in my understanding and appreciation of American pride and honoring those who served. I’m deeply grateful to those who sacrificed and faced challenges that were hard but necessary. Over time, I’ve developed a kinder, more nurturing heart, with greater understanding of myself and others. What I didn’t realize back then, but know now, is that compassion for suffering is something to embrace, not avoid. You face it, work through the pain and emotions, and grow from it. It wasn’t fair or right of me to pass off uncomfortable situations to others, and I’m not proud that I did.

I wish I could go back and redo that time in my life. I wouldn’t shy away from or try to avoid the pain of loss. I’d be there to truly honor the deceased and their family with my presence, and to express my gratitude for their commitment and service.

* Most times we used a recording of Taps. Our bugle player was a reserve member and was not always available. 

* A rifle volley is when three shots are fired in honor of the deceased. Rifle volleys were performed only if the family chooses it.