The day went about how one might expect it would go, with many tears and fond remembrances. What is there to say, really? He’s gone now. Nothing to do but move forward or risk getting caught in the trap that snared him.
There are a few things I’ll never forget, like escorting him between cities for the funeral service and then back to be cremated, when the sirens sounded like the wailing of those in pain from his loss, as if those sirens were the expression of all the pent up sorrow felt in that escort line.
Dispatch called for him three times over the radio, bringing the entire service to tears and, in some cases, wails not too different from the sounds of police sirens from earlier in the morning.
He didn’t answer, and he never will again.
Gotta keep moving.
Until next time,