The sky was blue. For the rest of her life Ellie Cartwright would remember that the sky was blue the day she buried her husband. Birds sang, a light breeze blew the scent of water through the grass, the sun that was usually covered by Washington rain clouds shone bright today.
The trumpets bugled Taps.
Oh God, she thought, when the edges of her vision started to turn gray. I will not pass out. I will not pass out.
“Mama? Mama?” a small voice asked while a small hand tugged on the sleeve of her jacket.
Ellie picked up her little girl, her Ava Lee and breathed in the fresh smell of baby shampoo and the red rose Ava clutched in her fist. Hugging her tight, she looked around at everything but the hole dug for her husband. Flags were waving in the breeze, headstones stood regal for the buried. Ellie's mother in law, Grace, stood with her head bowed, silent tears running down her cheeks while her father in law, Scott stood, trying his best to look stoic in his dress blues.
A soldier stood in front of her. God, the same soldier that had given her the news? No. No. This one was younger. No lines, hard or soft around his eyes, no fear or anger in his eyes, only duty and maybe something akin to sorrow. He knelt in front of her and presented the precisely folded flag.
Ellie held out a hand and Ava mirrored the move. Together they received the last token of appreciation that James Cartwright would received from the military.
