Patriotism is the admission that people who share a land, a place, and a history have a special obligation to that place and to each other.
~David Ehrenfeld
I had traveled to California to say farewell to my sister Rose, who died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of fifty-four. She had served in the Women’s Army Corps during the Vietnam War and received a military funeral at Riverside National Cemetery in Riverside, California. I was presented with the commemorative American flag and the three brass casings from the volleys fired by the honor guard, and then I rushed off to the airport.
I was carrying the flag, which had been folded into the traditional tri-corner form with the blue field of stars visible from both sides. The three spent shell casings were carefully tucked inside.
Going through security, which was at an all-time high due to the recent September 11th attacks on our nation, was quite an ordeal. I was ushered to a highly visible, roped-off section, flanked by security officers. The casings, still containing gunpowder residue, had been detected.
I tearfully explained over and over that the casings were from the commemorative rounds fired at my sister’s funeral. Still, they closed the security line, and passengers were redirected to another area as they strained their necks trying to see what was happening. After several phone calls and discussions, security finally let me through with the flag and casings intact.
I held the flag even tighter as I looked for my gate and began my walk through the airport, which turned out to be an unexpectedly emotional experience. People looked at the flag and then at me with compassion and respect. “I’m sorry for your loss,” many said as they hurried past.
While on the automated walkway, I thought of my sister. I held back tears as I held the flag to my chest. Across the aisle, headed in the opposite direction, a dozen or so young men — perhaps a high-school sports team — looked at me and simultaneously gave the thumbs-up. My sadness mixed with pride as I realized this was their salute, their show of respect.
Arriving at the overcrowded gate, a gentleman respectfully stood up, took off his hat, and gestured to his seat. I thanked him and sat next to a young mother who was explaining to her child why I was carrying the flag.
“Someone died who had served our country,” she explained.
As I boarded the plane, people ushered me ahead, patting my arm and expressing condolences. A young man offered to take my carry-on. He smiled, gave a half salute, and swung it into the overhead compartment. Thanking him, I sat in my seat and placed the flag in my lap. The exhaustion from the emotional roller coaster of losing my sister so suddenly, and the quick cross-country trip for her funeral, were finally catching up to me. I decided to try and relax, but just as I was on the verge of settling down, I heard my name over the plane’s PA system. “This is the captain. Linda Feist, please come to the front of the plane.”
Was I being called back to security due to the casings? Full of apprehension, I made my way up the aisle amid the stares and low murmurs of the other passengers. I was greeted by a flight attendant, who took my arm and politely pointed to a seat.
“The captain and the crew asked me to extend this courtesy to you,” she said. It was a first-class seat! I thanked them and thought about how I would always remember this day . . . the day I buried my sister, the day of immeasurable kindness, the day I felt patriotism so profoundly.
During my connecting flight, a passenger looking for her seat stopped in the aisle when she saw me. She looked at the flag in my lap and said she had noticed me walking through the airport. “It was quite an impressive sight,” she said, “to see the commemorative flag being carried, and so many knowing what it symbolizes.”
Arriving home, I was anxious to share these extraordinary experiences with my husband and daughter. During dinner, I told them about the funeral, my flights, and the respect and kindness I received from total strangers. “I was in awe of how many people were genuinely affected by seeing the flag,” I said. “I felt a universal reaction, whether it was from those who knew what it symbolized or not.” My daughter, in her early twenties at the time, was quite moved.
“Mom, do you have a renewed sense of faith in our country by this show of patriotism?” she asked.
I thought carefully about her question. “I’ve always felt it, sensed it,” I answered. “I was just one of the fortunate ones to experience it.”
That day, on March 6, 2002, I felt my sister traveled with me. I proudly carried the flag in her honor. I realize now that the flag is a symbol for all those who went before and will continue after her. When we honor the flag, we honor them.
~Linda Ann Feist
