He had not played his trumpet for well over 46 years, having been a proud member of the Caribou High School band, yet today he stood in his basement recreation room, taking deep breaths to prepare himself for his moment of truth.
Would he be able to play “Taps” for his brother’s interment? Would he be able to wear his U.S, Air Force uniform after all these years?
He had proudly served an America he believed in for 23 years. Not once during his time away from Caribou did he open up the case and take the trumpet into his hands. Not once did he bring the trumpet up to his mouth, his fingers growing stiff with age and tedious work. Tears of apprehension threatened to destroy his determination as he struggled to play that one first note.
Soft and shaky, the trumpet reached out, filling the recreation room with one slightly off-key murmur that gained momentum, ending with that haunting, sorrowful eulogy to those who served so honorably and sacrificed their lives to protect freedom.
Taps is very often played at military bases all over the world, signaling that it is time to turn lights out and rest their bodies and their minds. It was this soldier’s dream to honor his brother while dressed in full military garb, including white gloves. With one minor alteration, the uniform was in perfect condition, as was the American Legion cap he wore in memory of his father, who also served.
Above him, on the first floor of the house, a woman stood quietly, listening intently to the music from below. She could picture him standing there, the trumpet at his side. His long white ponytail would be in sharp contrast to the navy-blue suit, but in her eyes, his hair simply confirmed who he was and what he believed in.
The day of the interment was a bit cold and windy. The family gathered at the Veterans Cemetery to offer their respect and accolade to the man’s brother. Before words were spoken, the man took his place just outside the pavilion, the glorious trumpet at his side.
He turned swiftly, in military style, and brought the trumpet up to his mouth, his white gloved hands in place.
As he began to play, each note told a story. Ah, yes. It was time to lay all burdens down. He finished playing, his teardrops lost in that last note.
He pivoted once again, saluted, and watched the American flag folded with gentle, capable hands. He stepped forward and took the flag reverently and then turned toward his brother’s wife, his sister-in-law, and handed her the flag, which she took tenderly. He saluted her before stepping back, his statuesque pose still intact.
Once his family had left the pavilion, he succumbed to his sorrow and promised himself he would recall these moments for the remainder of his days — and beyond.
Belinda Wilcox Hersey lives in Caribou with her husband, Kent. You may email her at belindahersy@gmail.com.
