“Private Rogers!” roared the drill sergeant.
“Present!” Rogers stood in the back of the auditorium with several others, all lined up in uniform.
“Private Jackson!”
Another man yelled, “Present!” Most of the civilian crowd was watching each of them, twisted backwards in their seats.
“Private Michaelson!”
“Present!” I wondered how they kept their voices so steady.
“Present!” I wondered how they kept their voices so steady.
“Lt. Daniels!”
“Present!” Some people were looking forward now. Some staring at their hands in their laps.
“Lt. Feeback!”
“Present!” This uniformed man stood from his seat among the civilians.
“Private Jacobs!”
“Present!” He, also, stood up from the crowd.
“Private Madrazo!”
A young man in the very front row stood and yelled, “Present!” I wondered where his eyes were looking. Maybe to the stage, which was empty except for a pair of combat boots, a rifle, and a helmet. Maybe at what was directly in front of him.
“Lt. Madrazo!”
Silence. The crowd, I think, was holding its collective breath.
“Lt. Madrazo!” the drill sergeant called again. Not a murmur came in response. “Lieutenant Nicholas Madrazo!” We all stared forward now, waiting for the answer that we knew would never come.
“Lieutenant…Nicholas…Aaron…Madrazo!” He paused between each word, louder than ever, maybe hoping it would help.
When silence still fell everywhere, he took a step. A marine to the right of the stage lifted his horn and began to play Taps. The sergeant, locking his eyes on the casket before him, slowly lifted his hand into a salute. All the men in uniform, still standing, did likewise. And his mother wept the most.
I offer up this writing in honor of my cousin, Nicholas Aaron Madrazo. Three years ago today, he was killed in action with a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. The ceremony which I’ve recalled above occurred at his memorial service; to me, it was so painfully beautiful I had to write it down. For those who were there and share this memory, I apologize if I made any mistakes on the details. I simply wanted to record the memory in Nic’s honor, because I think what the ceremony signifies is incredibly important. Nic died doing exactly what he believed was right. He was devoted to it, completely present, until the very end. Only death could keep him from being so. It was, and is, a beautiful way to mourn and remember our Marine.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. Nic was a wonderful man, cherished and missed by many. His family has set up a foundation in his honor to support troops currently in harm’s way as well as veterans and their families. To learn more about Nic’s story, and to find out how you can contribute, visit www.thenamesfoundation.org.
I want to close with a poem by Paul Eluard entitled “Gabriel Peri.” I read it not long after Nic’s passing, and in substituting “Nicholas” for “Peri,” I found it was almost perfect. I submit it with just such a substitution below.
A man has died who had no other shield
than his arms open wide to life.
A man has died who had no other road
than the road where rifles are hated.
A man has died who battles still
against death, against oblivion.
For all the things he wanted
we wanted too.
We want them to-day:
Happiness to be the light
within the heart within the eyes
and justice on earth.
There are words that help us to live
And they are plain words:
The word warmth, the word trust
Love, justice, and the word freedom
The word child and the word kindness
The names of certain flowers and certain fruits
The word courage and the word discover
The word brother and the word comrade
The name of certain lands and villages
The names of women and friends
Now let us add the name of Nicholas.
Nicholas has died for all that gives us life
Let's call him friend, his chest is bullet-torn,
But thanks to him we know each other better
Let's call each other friend, his hope lives on.
Semper Fi, Nic. I love you, and I praise God for the day when we will see you again.
