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Eight days later, I handed the medallion to his mother. I didn't know Chance before he died. Today, I miss him. Over a year ago, I volunteered to escort the remains of Marines killed in Iraq should the need arise.
The military provides a uniformed escort for all casualties to ensure they are delivered safely to the next of kin and are treated with dignity and respect along the way. Thankfully, I hadn't been called on to be an escort since Operation Iraqi Freedom began.
The first few weeks of April, however, had been a tough month for the Marines. The press release listed his hometown--the same town I'm from. I didn't hear back the rest of Monday and all day Tuesday until Before leaving for Dover I called the major who had the task of informing Phelps's parents of his death. The major said the funeral was going to be in Dubois, Wyoming. It turned out that PFC Phelps only lived in my hometown for his senior year of high school.
I had never been to Wyoming and had never heard of Dubois. First thing on Wednesday we reported to the mortuary at the base. In the escort lounge there were about half a dozen Army soldiers and about an equal number of Marines waiting to meet up with "their" remains for departure.
Now, at Dover with nothing to do and a solemn mission ahead, I began to get depressed. I was wondering about Chance Phelps. I didn't know anything about him; not even what he looked like. I wondered about his family and what it would be like to meet them. I did pushups in my room until I couldn't do any more. On Thursday morning I reported back to the mortuary. This time there was a new group of Army escorts and a couple of the Marines who had been there Wednesday.