My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important.

“The Eklunds called last night,” he began. “Really?”

I said. “I haven’t heard

from them in years. I wonder how Mark is.” Dad responded quietly.

“Mark was killed in

Vietnam,” he said. “The

funeral is tomorrow, and

his parents would like it if you could attend.”

The church was packed with Mark’s friends. Chuck’s sister sang “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the

bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the

coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. I was the last one to bless the coffin.

As I stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to me. “Were you Mark’s math teacher?” he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. “Mark talked about you a lot,” he said.

After the funeral, most of Mark’s former classmates headed to Chuck’s farmhouse for lunch. Mark’s mother and father were there, obviously waiting for me. “We want to show

you something,” his father said, taking a wallet out

of his pocket. “They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.”

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two

worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times.

I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had

listed all the good things each of Mark’s classmates had said about him.

“Thank you so much for doing that,” Mark’s mother said. “As you can see, Mark treasured it.”— lifeofhope.com