Christine chauffeured us in Larkin’s heated limousine to the cemetery. My brothers and sons and nephews and I grasped the handles as pallbearers and carried the casket to the open grave, stepping to the bagpiper’s I’ll Go Where You Want Me To Go, the last notes croaking to a close in the 19 degree F chill.  I thanked our missionary friend for his touching musical contribution.  The Air Force color guard stood graveside, their long coats, hats, and gloves inadequate for the cold.  From a distance, an airman played a moving Taps on his silver horn.  Two airmen floated an American flag above the casket, and one began to fold the flag in precise, crisp triangular movements, each fold finished with a deft creasing ceremonial swipe of the hand.  Few knew that Dad had served in the U.S. armed forces, for he rarely mentioned his service.  His orders kept him stateside as an interrogator, linguist (Romanian), intelligence officer, and airman second class, serving eight years in the Army and Air Force reserves and the Utah Army National Guard.  Completing the last fold of the flag, and tucking the borders into the folds, an airman knelt in the ice and snow on one knee before Mom, held out to her the folded flag, and whispered solemnly to her, “On behalf of the President of the United States of America, I thank you for your husband’s service to his country, and present to you this American flag.”  The moment for departure came, and we turned to walk away from the icy grave and the casket, covered in the most beautiful multicolored flowers.