“Ladies and gentlemen, our flight will be slightly delayed. We have the privilege of escorting a fallen soldier and his family, so we want to give them some privacy. Please be patient as we wait for them to board the plane. Thank you for your understanding.”

The waiting area fell silent in a way I’d never experienced before. I was in Charlotte, North Carolina, waiting on a connecting flight back home to Southern California when this announcement came over the PA system. People began to get up and slowly move towards the windows that looked out over the runway. I joined them, and we watched as the Marine Corps Honor Guard moved into view, perfectly stepping in sync next to a flag-draped casket on a wheeled base. Following the procession was a man and woman, dressed formally in black. They were followed by several young people I assumed were siblings of the fallen soldier.

My heart went immediately to the mother who gripped her husband’s hand. What must it be like to watch a flag-draped casket knowing your son lies inside? Was she remembering the last time she saw him? The last time she heard his voice? My eyes filled with tears as I witnessed her grief. I turned away as she lifted a handkerchief to her face. Somehow, it seemed wrong to watch her suffering.

Inside the terminal, I was amazed to see people removing baseball caps, putting their hands over their hearts, and bowing their heads in reverence and respect. As a group, we stood in silence until the casket was loaded into the plane and the cargo doors were closed. They call this the Dignified Transfer. It would be repeated when the plane landed, probably accompanied by a police and fire department escort and a water cannon.

For those few moments, frozen in time, a group of strangers stood and honored a young man they had never met but who they knew had given his life – an honorable sacrifice in service to his country. Their country.

That tiny bud of patriotic grief gave me hope that Americans still care deeply about what matters.

• Facebook
• Threads