Wednesday, February 05, 2014
I did go today to Sergeant Cory Wride's funeral. It slowly dawned on me that I had met him once. I believe he was in charge of my background check when I got hired by the sheriff's office a few years ago. I remember that he was friendly and kind and set me at ease about the process.
The event was overwhelming on many levels, not the least of which was the sheer number of law enforcement officers from all over the state and beyond who were there to honor a brother.
But two small things stood out to me in particular. Small, but deeply significant.
First, the story a deputy shared about his discovery that after transporting the perpetrator in a particularly difficult domestic violence case to jail, Sergeant Wride had quietly gone back to the house where the arrest took place with bags full of groceries to stock up the family's bare kitchen. Seeing. Serving.
Second, as the bagpiper led the recessional after the service, the cord and tassel on his bagpipes swung back and forth in rhythm to the music and his steps. We could hear the music long after they left. Tradition. Comfort.
In death, we can remember to live.