My Wingman In The Casket
by U.S. Air Force Senior Airman Paige Weldon
February 21, 2025

I stood sharp, crisp and motionless as family members, friends and wingmen mourned around me. I disconnected from myself and all feelings I typically reserved for funerals. I am no longer Senior Airman Paige Weldon, here, I am a body, playing a role, putting on a show. When the time was right, I followed the commands without a second thought of the sorrow surrounding me. I am a ceremonial guardsman.

The phrase, “lock it in” echoed everywhere we went. It transformed me into a mute, emotionless being, prepared to do whatever I was instructed.

Some cemeteries were frequent venues and made “locking it in” easier. The repetitiveness of the scenery and employees made those funerals routine, they were a fine oiled machine and so were we. Until one day, the pattern was disrupted, and my perspective forever altered.br>
I approached the pavilion, empty handed. The casket was already in place with the flag unfolded atop. It was only a few minutes until the service was scheduled to begin. I glanced back to the small office building where the procession would gather to see no cars eagerly waiting to approach.

I asked the hearse driver, “Where is the family?”

A cemetery worker replied, “No one is coming. It’s an unclaimed body and the funeral was arranged by some government agency. You just have to hand the flag to the driver.”

“What?”

That was all I could manage to conjure up as a response. How could there be no one coming? Someone filled out the paperwork, paid for their casket but couldn't bother coming to their funeral?

“This happens every so often. It's typically homeless veterans that die on the street with their discharge papers in their pocket,” said the worker, emotionlessly. She was better at this than I was.

At that moment, it felt like the world stopped spinning. No other thought occupied my mind. Not how hungry I was, how much I missed my family or how painful the shoes I was wearing were. All that remained was the pain, fear and sadness I had revolving around the unfortunate passing of the person in the casket.

This was the first funeral I was Senior Airman Paige Weldon, and not that “locked in” emotionless robot performing. There was no crowd to perform for after all.

I got down on my right knee, placed the flag on the drivers lap and began the speech, “On behalf of the-”

He stood up. Why is he standing? I'm not done.

I finished the speech as the man walked away, saluted the empty seat and marched away. A tear had already escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek.

We get in the car. Silence. It’s never silent after a funeral. There is always praise or constructive criticism followed by some laughing and plans of what we should grab for lunch. The silence was loud, deafening and painful.

I think of the person in that casket often. I don’t remember their name, and that haunts me. I do remember their rank though, technical sergeant.

They had been in the Air Force long enough to achieve that rank but had no remaining friends to attend their funeral. I thought of my own friends that felt so important and irreplaceable in my life. I began fearing that one day that could be me in that casket. Alone. The only people attending my funeral are on the clock: the director, hearse driver and two honor guardsmen folding my flag. Would their speech be interrupted, too?

The funeral reminded me of the importance of connectedness. My life has been enriched and shaped by the individuals I have encountered. I require human connection to thrive. It also reminded me of the impact all choices can have on my future. I’m certain no homeless veteran joined in hopes of one day dying alone.

I’ve become more cognizant of how I foster my relationships and setting more obtainable life goals. I will not share the same fate as my wingman in the casket.

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