Hallowed Ground - How it Feels to Visit Dad's Grave

“Arlington..at last!” My heart began to swell with excitement as our shuttle drove

through the stately gates at Arlington National Cemetery. I looked down at the

delicate periwinkle, burgundy and white flowers I was holding that were donated to

TAPS families to take to their heroes graves. I looked around at others, many now

friends who were also looking out the shuttle windows with loving anticipation. The

shuttle stopped at section 60 and we all piled out and scurried toward our

respective heroes resting places. I looked at the decorations, flags, toys, pictures,

balloons and flowers of all sizes placed tenderly by broken hearts that gave the

normally simple-yet-proud rows of white granite in section 60 an explosion of life

and color. Those rows of decorated stones seemed to shout, “we are loved!” Where

many if not most section 60 families live away from DC, this was a time for reverent

celebration and connection.

My friend Brooke pulled up the Arlington app on her phone to find section 1. We had

a hike ahead of us! As we walked away I glanced again at section 60 and saw small

groups sitting on blankets, more gifts being presented and the occasional young

woman lying in front of her love’s head stone and I sensed her intense longing to be

back in his arms.

Our hike was long but was an incredible way to see Arlington. I’d been there a few

times before but walking it made my heart heavy with reality and gratitude for the

immense magnitude of sacrifice spread out before my eyes.

Our pace was slower due to the heat of the sun and humidity. I felt streams of

perspiration and the now warm flowers in my hands. Despite myself I felt

embarrassed at my appearance and my sad wilted offering. “Sorry Dad—you’re

worth so much more than what I’m bringing you. And I look terrible!” It had been 14

years since my last visit to his grave. During those 14 years I had gotten to know

more about him and more about his death. I’d made great strides in my grief as a

result and didn’t know how I would feel and act this visit. I wasn’t even certain I

would cry.

We finally reached section 1 and my eyes instinctively laser focused on one small

white stone several yards from the road. “DADDY!!!” my feet couldn’t get there fast

enough and in no time I was sitting in the cool grass, purse and wilty flowers tossed

to the side, finally seeing his name! My tear-filled eyes didn’t want to blink for fear

his name would disappear. “Daddy…you’re real!! I miss you so much!”

The pain was intense. “Please Daddy, just be real for me today!” I sat there taking in

the physical proof of his earthly existence-that’s his name-he used to walk these

grounds to visit his grandparents, not knowing he would very shortly join them. He

used to hold me on his lap and he used to sing to me. Dad is there and the comfort

and connection just barely exceed the grief I feel--all of the pain I’ve ever felt over

his death white-hot right there.

One of my TAPS friend’s 3-year-old son suggested they dig his dad up and take him

away from Section 57. I found myself echoing the same 3-year-old sentiments. How I

wish it were possible just to sit and really talk to Dad for real instead of just feeling

his presence and a deep connection that help me believe that he still exists and

walks with me. How I wish I could cry on his shoulder and hear him speak his advise

and words of adoration for his only daughter, rather than just feel them in my heart.

I sat there begging for purpose, begging for answers, begging for this not to be real

and mourning the life neither of us had the chance to live. I mourned the support

and hugs and self-respect he would have pounded into my head where instead I got

whisperings of understanding and encouragement.

My emotions were magnified this visit. My heart seared with intense pain and loss

but there was no place I wanted to be more. I didn’t want to leave the peace and

stillness, the sounds of birds and the soft breeze in the proud trees that arched high

above as a protective awning. Other monuments, some a couple centuries old, stood

in honor of great ones also resting there. Dad is one of them and is in good company.

The almost overwhelming feeling of respect, and peace embraced and soothed the

raw pain comes from Dad’s absence. Section 1 was my sanctuary and the most

beautiful place on earth—so beautiful that I wanted to share it—with everyone! And

a big part of me still does.

After about an hour I was ready to leave. I knew I would return to my sanctuary at

least a couple more times that trip and looked forward to more pondering,

meditation and most of all being in a place where Dad physically really exists!

I did return, twice more. The last day was more emotion-filled than the first. I went

alone for the first two hours and was later joined by my friends. It was so hard

because I don’t know the next time I will return to Arlington.

As I sit writing this piece 2,111 miles from Arlington’s gates I have mascara streaks

on my face. I still hurt for Dad and wish I was there. I’ve always hated cemeteries but

love Arlington. I understand why those women lie on the ground in front of their

fallen sweetheart, and why kids write letters and give precious toys to their daddy

or brother or sister or mom. I understand why parents bring their son or daughter’s

favorite shirt to place on hallowed ground. I understand why my friend wears a

necklace with a gold charm containing a few ashes of her stillborn baby daughter.

Having evidence of even just a piece of their physicality within reach slightly

soothes the empty arms we feel so often. That tiny piece is there as proof that they

once lived, that in most cases, they lovingly touched us, even if it was to feel a baby

kick before father or baby died. That one tiny piece of mortal proof is a scorching

double-edged sword of a treasure that is a luxury some don’t have, and a treasure

that should be cherished as we continue to honor and love our fallen heroes.

-Allicia Johnson Niles