We buried my mom today.

In the shade of an outdoor chapel, with a breeze blowing through the pecan trees, the air sunstruck and clear and warm. It was a perfect day. The ceremony was at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery, where my dad is already buried. It was a chance for the armed forces of the United States to pay their last respects, in a ceremony rich in symbol and elegant in execution.

Two soldiers in dress uniforms held the United States flag as an honor guard fired a 21-gun salute. Then the flag was folded in a ritual as precise and symbolic as any liturgy: thirteen folds in honor of the original thirteen colonies, until the flag has become a deep blue triangle with stars. Then, after an achingly slow and solemn salute from the other members of the flag detail, its commander came in front of me, knelt on one knee and presented the flag to the family:

On behalf of the President and a grateful nation, it is my privilege to present this flag to you as a symbol of the faithful and dedicated service your loved one gave to her country.

And then it was the Church's turn. A dear family friend and priest led a simple but beautiful service, blessing the hallowed ground in which Mom would be laid and then praying for her.

May the angels lead you into Paradise.
May the martyrs greet you on your way
and lead you into the Holy City, Jerusalem.
And with Lazarus, who once was poor,
may you have riches of eternal life.

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord.
And let perpetual light shine upon her.
May she rest in peace.
Amen.
May her soul and the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
Amen.