He was loyal, but not just the kind of loyal that would jump into fire to save you. He would jump into fire to burn WITH you, just so you knew you weren’t alone. That’s rare and hard to find.
Since Nolan’s passing, I’ve seen my brothers come out of the woodwork in a positive way. We’re all tired of losing each other, asking “how many more.” I beg, “what are WE going to do about it.”
There was Hall, who Nolan looked up to, who died. It was Enger, who dubbed the nickname “Peaches,” since Nolan was from Georgia, who also died. Chappy and Golden gone too. I’m a movie fanatic, so I immediately go to “Hostiles” where a cavalryman is talking to Christian Bale in the cold rain after an assailant runs off and the cavalryman states before he declares he’ll catch the S.O.B., “I don’t feel anything anymore.” He’s found alongside the dead assailant he killed with a self-inflicted gun shot wound to the head… in the cold rain.
We can get into the possible reasons why. Was it war? Survivors guilt? PTS? Or was it being a product of your environment where each one made their own decision. The only constant answer is that we’ll never know the answer. Still, we want this emotional ride that’s teasing legions of war fighters to become not a numbing experience, but somehow a positive one.
We spoke not long ago. There were ups and downs, but he was happy. Always bragging on his woman, new job and the fight to get his daughter back. We chatted about local lawyers and TV personalities that would clear his name while he wrote his story. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he was one hell of a soldier and friend. He was the only one, after so many years and empty promises by others, that showed up at the end of a 2,185-mile hike just to share a pint and go our separate ways. He was on probation when Hall passed. He still made it across state lines to say goodbye and make sure Hall was taken care of properly. Phillips stood in multiple fires to be with us in our filth. Smiling and calm to bring us peace during tough times. So… it is our duty to take him at his word and stand beside him.
The day started with last minute preparations from a hotel room. We’d driven to Georgia from Indiana, Louisiana and Virginia. We coordinated with a deacon of sorts, funeral director, honor guard, VFW and his loved ones on no sleep as well as updating our families back home, sipped coffee and exchanged cigars. We had one mission: bring peace to all in order for a proper farewell. Due to COVID-19, we had to make multiple stops to find a place to simply smirk at one another while very briefly catching up. We settled on Antoinette’s Café a few minutes from Flanigan’s Funeral Home. We met Courtney’s wife as Grant joked him on his music selection while working out still being as eclectic now as it was 10 years ago. These men were my soldiers at one point, like Nolan was, like Hall was, like Enger was, like Golden was... as well as a basic training brother. I could not have been prouder in hearing them converse. Nothing to my credit… it was just great to be a sheep to my own men. I’m a follower at heart. That’s something most fighters see as beneath them, but I remember following my packs of friends growing up, because I loved listening to them banter, something I’ve never been good at. I led in the military because it was needed, not because I wanted it or was any good at it. It was my time and my duty. And to relinquish it to such accomplished men, was an honor.
At Flanigan’s, we met his family and friends. Some were warm and some irked me. Comments like, “I wish he would have reached out,” were followed by thoughts of, “that’s a two-way fucking street you piece of shit,” but I just nodded with a smile to keep the peace.
“You’ve got that look on your face,” Courtney said to me after they read the room and left us be.
Grant and Courtney then reminded me of a morning where Nolan showed up late and not in our typical workout gear, not giving two shits about it. I started laughing in the funeral parlor uncontrollably to the point of tears of joy. Locals probably thought I was mourning… but I was in the middle of a joyous memory of our brother.
As the caravan led us to the Church for Nolan’s final resting place, I’d never seen a community that size respect a funeral procession the way it did for him. Everyone pulled over. EVERYONE. It was an easy 20-minute ride. The police protected us at every intersection with precision. The church seemed to have extra police, but it wasn’t from our escort. It was because there was a car accident. That’s where we met Al.
He was a Vietnam Veteran with a Purple Heart and Grant had planned everything with him. Al was in the accident just outside the church where an entire engine block played footsy with the pedals. The bridge of his nose was bloodied and his left hand was bandaged. He was grinning ear to ear as we identified each other. Al passed along a bag of promised flags. No matter how much pain his 80-year-old bones were in, he was only satisfied to have accomplished the mission of honoring Nolan. What an OG and what an honor it was to see such loyalty across generations and military branches to make sure a warrior was laid to rest properly… at all costs.
In death, we are to watch over his most beloved. Fiancée, friends, family. Above all, her. When I presented the flag to his daughter, all I saw was him. Her pink, fly Chuck T’s and chunky cheeks. At that moment, I choked. I’d done this before for Hall’s son flawlessly. But as a father of two daughters, when I looked at her and saw him, I forgot where I was and what I was supposed to do. I forgot to salute. I just said things that will always be between the two of us and those within ear shot. And then I just left her as the 21-gun salute rang crisp and perfectly in the thick summer air followed by Taps. She’s just an innocent kid… with no biological parent, but a whole lot of uncles that would wipe out bloodlines to keep her safe… because he would do the same.
When your bones tell you the fight is over, your time as a warfighter is done, but what’s never over is your responsibility to your brother’s kin. No one asks for it. Nobody expects it. You’re never actually able to be there around the clock. But you still keep in touch and keep a keen sense of, “are they where their father would want them to be.”
I joined Grant and Courtney as folks left. The grounds crew prepared to lower his body as the tent was disassembled. We gave our final salute to his coffin before sharing a shot of whiskey and a pint in his honor with his fiancée and her mother. We didn’t want to see our brother like that. We miss him. Memories of his tales brought tears of uncontrollable laughter and joy. We’ll hold onto that and we hope his daughter comes looking for answers one day. We’ll be here to share those stories with her… and they’ll fill the night with bellows of laugher!
