Tom Sileo (38 page)

Though they never doubted their decision, Tom, Janet, and Ryan were concerned about the reinterment ceremony distracting from Brendan's burial. Invitations were limited to relatives and close friends, and news of the ceremony was kept quiet, even though a busload full of Marines from the recently dedicated Manion Hall—a barracks at The Basic School in Quantico, Virginia, named in honor of Travis—showed up anyway.

Before finalizing the plans, Tom had shared his family's concerns with Amy.

“We know what a painful time this is,” said Tom, gently placing his hand on the young widow's shoulder. “Please don't feel like you have to be at the reinterment. The next few days should be all about Brendan.”

“I appreciate that,” Amy responded. “But you can count on all of us being there. . . . We want to honor Travis the right way too.”

Rarely does a wife, mother, father, brother, or sister sit in full view of a loved one's eventual gravesite just three days before the funeral. But as compassionate, courageous Americans, that's exactly what Amy and the Looney family did.

Sitting directly behind Tom, Janet, Ryan, Dave, and Maggie on a serene fall afternoon, Amy was dressed in a black outfit with large, dark sunglasses similar to the ones she had seen Ryan wearing at Travis's first burial. She was totally numb by the time a Marine Gunnery Sergeant knelt in front of Tom and Janet and handed them a folded American flag.

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and this grateful nation, please accept this flag—once again—as a symbol of our appreciation,” the Marine said. “It's a symbol of your son's honorable and faithful service to this country and his code.”

As Tom put his arm around Janet, who was nodding her head in appreciation, the Gunnery Sergeant stood and slowly saluted the Manions and Looneys before kneeling down again. The ground beneath him was covered with a piece of artificial turf, as this hallowed portion of Section 60 was mostly dirt. Americans were still dying in Afghanistan and Iraq almost every week, and many more funerals were expected. The Marine then removed his white glove to shake the now-retired Marine Corps colonel's hand.

“You all have our deepest sympathy,” the Marine said. “May God continue to bless you and your family, with a heavenly smile on each and every one of you. Thank you, and we love you.”

Throughout the service, Maureen, Bridget, Erin, Kellie, and Ali took turns wrapping their arms around Amy. In a moment of profound sadness, each Looney also held a small American flag.

After remarks from the priest and the singing of a hymn, Tom stepped up to the podium next to a framed picture of his son. The
spot where Travis would be reinterred, covered in flowers, was directly in front of him.

“I'd like to start off by thanking everyone for being here today as we move Travis to his final resting place,” Tom said. “I want to also take this opportunity to acknowledge the Umbrells that are here. Their brave son Colby, the hero, is buried just a few yards away on this sacred ground.”

After paying tribute to the family of the fallen Doylestown soldier and welcoming other relatives of departed military heroes, Travis's father said what was on everyone's minds.

“But most especially, I want to thank the Looney family for their presence here today,” he said. “Our hearts go out to you as you deal with this incredible loss. Brendan represents the best this country has to offer. We mourn him now, and we will forever, the passing of this American hero.”

The Manions were laying their beloved Travis to rest, but throughout the entire ritual, their paramount concern was the Looneys.

“There are so many mixed emotions for us as we move Travis to this place of honor,” Tom said. “Brendan's loss fills all our waking hours, yet we're moving Travis to be next to his great friend, and together, with all their warrior brothers and sisters, who have paid their full measure defending freedom.

“This solemn place leaves us with a sadness for the sacrifices, but also extremely proud of these brave Americans who so unselfishly and courageously stepped forward to confront the evil that faces our world,” he continued. “We, the families of these defenders of freedom, can't begin to describe the void that fills our hearts, but we can tell you how much our sons and daughters loved this country and all that it stands for. We are now their voice.”

As Tom continued his moving address, he was interrupted by a plane flying overhead, presumably taking off from or landing at nearby Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. In the
anxious days after 9/11, as Travis and Brendan studied and trained in Annapolis, the mere sound of a jet had terrified many Americans, especially in Washington and New York. More than nine years later, however, most no longer feared a terrorist attack from the sky, largely thanks to the sacrifices of the men and women who had answered the call to serve.

“So Travis, as we lay you here today beside your brother, Brendan, and with all your fellow patriots, we will always remember the selfless service and sacrifice, and we will continue to rally in your honor with the call: ‘If not me, then who . . . '” Tom said. “To make a difference for others and to always step forward to do what's right, no matter what the cost.

“God bless you, my son, and rest in peace with your warrior brothers and sisters,” Travis's father concluded. “First Lieutenant Travis Manion, United States Marine Corps, Lieutenant Brendan Looney, United States Navy: warriors for freedom, brothers forever.”

As Tom, Janet, Ryan, and Dave greeted dozens of mourners after the ceremony, someone gave Travis's mother a bouquet of flowers. Janet then pointed toward Amy, who was staring blankly at the dirt while still holding an American flag, and requested Maggie's help.

“Sweetie, would you give these to Amy?” Janet asked her four-year-old granddaughter.

Throughout the worst ordeal of Amy's life, Janet was there, along with Christina, Maureen, Bridget, Erin, Kellie, and Ali, to lend the type of support that only kindhearted, benevolent women can lend another.

That night, with Travis reinterred and Brendan's funeral on the horizon, almost everyone went out for a solemn evening in Annapolis. While many of Brendan's fellow SEALs drank Bud Light due to the “BL” initials on each bottle, Amy, Janet, Ryan, and Tom did shots of Patrón to salute Travis and Brendan at McGarvey's, which was always one of their favorite bars. There,
Brendan's wife and Travis's sister talked for hours, laying the foundation for a close friendship that would soon resemble sisterhood. Even in death, Amy's “friend-finder” was still at work.

On an otherwise quiet Saturday morning, Amy still jumped every time the phone rang or a door opened. Even after seeing the very spot in which her husband would be buried, which was just to the right of Travis's resting place, the SEAL's widow still believed an egregious error had been made and that Brendan would emerge, unscathed, from an undisclosed location in Afghanistan.

Her hopes ended when she walked out of the funeral home's elevator and turned the corner toward the room where her husband lay in his open casket.

When she saw Brendan's unmistakable profile, Amy felt like she'd been slapped in the face, punched in the stomach, and hit by a car all at the same time. In a moment of sheer anguish, she collapsed to the floor and cried harder than anyone in the room had ever seen.

The scene was excruciating for all to witness, especially Sarver, who approached Amy's mom a few hours later. He was worried that he had made the wrong decision by saying he thought it was appropriate to view Brendan, to which Christina replied that she believed he had made the right call.

Later, Kevin and Maureen also took Sarver aside to convey their gratitude. Not only was Sarver in Iraq when his close friend died, but in the tragic aftermath, he had spent almost three weeks helping arrange the funeral's every detail. A few months later, when the mist began to clear, Amy also thanked Sarver, sending him a framed picture of Brendan in Afghanistan, as well as the March 22, 2007, entry from her then boyfriend's journal.

“I am living with Rob Sarver also,” Brendan had written. “Together he and I will crush BUD/S.”

After the private viewing was Sunday's public wake at DeMatha, the high school alma mater of Brendan, his brothers, their dad, and several uncles. The turnout stunned even those who expected
a large crowd, as people from every walk of Brendan's life drove, took trains, or flew in to view his casket and look at the many pictures, from boyhood to manhood, displayed nearby. On that Sunday there was no prouder, more patriotic setting than the packed DeMatha Catholic High School gym.

The heartbreaking backdrop also prompted several close friends and relatives to take breaks. At one point Ben Mathews, the Navy linebacker whose face was once bloodied by a bone-crushing hit from Brendan after he failed to hustle in football practice, was sitting outside the gymnasium with Ryan.

“I just have this picture in my head of Brendan and Travis at my wedding,” a visibly shaken Mathews said. “I just can't believe this, Ryan. . . . I can't fucking believe it.”

Ryan simply nodded. In the wake of a second inconceivable tragedy in less than four years, there wasn't much that anyone, other than those who would speak so eloquently at Brendan's remembrance services, could say.

With well over a thousand people inside, Brendan's parents were busy greeting mourners. Amy, still in shock after seeing her husband's body, could not handle doing that for more than a few minutes. When she wasn't upstairs taking a break, she usually stood next to her mom and Janet, who put her arm around Brendan's wife and held her upright whenever her knees began to buckle. During one particularly sad moment for Amy, both she and Janet realized they were facing DeMatha's wrestling room.

“Okay, let's go ahead and face the other direction,” Janet said with her arm around Amy. The wrestling mat was a clear reminder of Travis, just as a lacrosse stick would naturally remind them of Brendan. When Amy started to cry, Janet spoke.

“Remember the story about how the boys went on a bike ride with that poor kid and basically left him out in the woods because they started racing?” Janet said. “They were always competing, those two.”

“Gosh, I know, it's just like the first time I went for a quote-un-quote ‘jog' with them and it ended up basically being a half marathon,” Amy said, wiping away tears with a handkerchief. “I can almost guarantee that after shaking hands, the first thing Travis and Brendan did when they first saw each other again up there was go for a run.”

“And someday, we'll see them again,” said Janet, nodding in agreement.

When they went upstairs to take a break, Janet, Christina, and Amy saw Tom, Kevin, and several others in the room gathered around a small television screen. The Washington Redskins, led by former Philadelphia quarterback Donovan McNabb, happened to be playing the Eagles at Lincoln Financial Field. On that solemn Sunday above the DeMatha gym, where mourners were walking past Brendan's casket, it was only appropriate that Brendan's favorite team was playing Travis's.

“Brendan used to wear Travis's Eagles jersey at games because he was such a good sport,” Janet said. “So for the first time in my life, I'm going to root for the Redskins today.”

The Redskins beat the heavily favored Eagles, 17–12.

After thousands packed Washington's Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception on a drizzly Monday morning, Brendan's flag-draped casket, covered with a plastic sheet to protect it from steady early afternoon rainfall, arrived at Arlington National Cemetery.

About four thousand people, all saluting or with a hand placed over their hearts, lined the cemetery street as six white horses pulled the fallen Navy SEAL toward his place of rest. Four uniformed soldiers from the US Army's Old Guard, which handles Arlington funerals with such dignity, guided the horses forward until they quietly stopped, after which US Navy sailors carried Brendan toward Travis and the fallen heroes of Section 60.

Having flown in from Afghanistan, Brendan's entire SEAL Team Three platoon was at Arlington to bid farewell to the warrior affectionately known as “Loon-Dog.” Indeed, as Defense Secretary Robert Gates had quoted while memorializing US Marine Major Douglas Zembiec, “Your men have to follow your orders. They don't have to go to your funeral.”

Secretary Gates was also at Brendan's funeral. With a hand over his heart, he stood alongside many mourners, including Tom, Janet, Ryan, and Dave, as the remarkable ceremony unfolded. Those who witnessed the burial of Lieutenant Brendan Looney would never forget seeing US Navy SEALs, who had come from California, Virginia, Iraq, and Afghanistan to salute their fallen brother, filing past Brendan's flag-draped casket one by one. The SEALs included Lieutenant Flynn Cochran, who had trained with Brendan at BUD/S; Petty Officer First Class Vic Nolan, who had led the team in prayer just before Brendan's final mission; and Lieutenant Steve Esposito, who had said “where do I start?” when asked what he liked most about Loon-Dog.

Though the twenty-one-gun salute was technically louder, the sound of each Navy SEAL pounding his trident into Brendan's casket was thunderous. As the Looney family cried, Janet held Brendan's trident tightly in her right hand. Section 60 of Arlington National Cemetery may have been soaked by rain and tears on that gray fall afternoon, but as the SEALs paid tribute to one of their own, a communal sense of pride was overflowing. Brendan was taken too soon, but he was also being honored the right way.