Trever Forever

Gone but not forgotten

This photo was taken before I knew him, in 2012, by his father who had the honor of watching Trever be an escort for a Pearl Harbor survivor in Hawaii where Trever was stationed at the time. I met his father a couple years later and have been with him ever since. I had the honor of knowing Trever for almost five years before he became one of the far too many veterans who take their own lives after years of suffering from PTSD.

Today, Trever would have been 38 years old.

After his death, his father and the rest of his family, including Trever’s wife, his mother, and his two brothers, formed a non-profit called Trever Forever to raise money to help combat veteran suicide. They hold an annual golf tournament that has raised a lot of money for the cause, and recently some of the funds were used to pay for the training of a veteran’s service dog. Trever loved dogs, and dogs are great therapy.

Anyway, prior to his death, I was working on a poem about standing in flag lines at military funerals, something that Trever’s father and I do as members of the American Legion Riders.

The above photo shows half the flag line at Trever’s funeral in April of 2019. His father and I were not a part of this one, but many riders from our group and even from across the state came to be in it in honor of Trever.

After his death, I polished the poem and changed part of one stanza to make it somewhat about him, and then I dedicated the entire poem to him and included it at the end of my novel about a Vietnam veteran who returns to Vietnam to heal himself, essentially. That novel is “Ticker Tape.

I’d like to share the poem for you today.

I Stood a Flag Line Today

I stood a flag line today,
Squinted into the summer sun’s glare,		
Nodded with respect to each mourner.		
Gone, a World War II Army vet --		
Not many left, and now one fewer.			
He’d seen action in France, at Alsace,			
Been wounded there, too, but he fought on,		
Then returned and farmed in the heartland 		
Forty years with a wife and three boys.		
One son beat him to the grave last year;		
They’re near again, just one plot apart --	
That’s saved for the widow and mother			
Too ill to attend; she’ll join them soon.    
I flinched as the gun salute rang out. 		
A breeze caught my flag and cooled my brow.	
Then someone played “Taps” in the distance.                         
I stood a flag line today.

I stood a flag line today.
The snowstorm raged and whirled around me,			
Its flakes caught and froze in my lashes.			
A frigid northern gale swept through and			
Numbed my gloved, yet unprotected, hands --			
My fingers a claw around the pole.			
Few bereft braved the cruel polar blast 		
To the Navy seaman’s inland berth.	
Those who did quickly nodded their thanks,		
As they rushed to their warm idling cars.		
I rolled my flag, laid it with the rest,		
Looked again at the lonely coffin	
Surrounded by Nebraska prairie	
Far from oceans its dweller once roamed.	
The storm intensified, so I, too, 
Ran to the warmth of my vehicle.			            
I stood a flag line today.

I stood a flag line today.
The Airman was on active duty				
When he fell, immensely younger than			
The usual vets for whom I stand.			
Anguished cries of family and friends		
Rang louder and longer to my ears.			
I blinked back my own tears, gripped tightly			
The smooth wooden pole in my right hand.		
A sharp wind whipped my flag, threatened to 		
Rip the canvas free as dry leaves swirled			
Around my scuffed leather riding boots. 			
Music from the church organist swelled			
As people entered the urban church.	
Mine was one of many flags today --			
Young soldiers’ deaths are harder somehow,		
Especially when we knew this one.              			
I stood a flag line today.

I stood a flag line today
At a small-town mortuary where              
More of us attended than mourners;				
I believe I counted four -- so sad.				
The veteran was ancient, cranky, 			
And long withdrawn from society					
When he died alone in his old house.				
Nobody but us seemed to care that 				
He stood for us, so we stand for him.			
He braved overseas’ battles and worse,			
Returned broken in mind and spirit;				
His final indignity -- four at				
His funeral and no eulogy.				
Legion Riders were his pallbearers;			
We escorted his hearse with as much			
Pageantry as ten bikes could provide.               
I stood a flag line today.

Dedicated in memory of Trever Nathan Erickson

I’ve been asked to read this poem in public a few times, including once for a Memorial Day tribute at a V.F.W. The stanza about the young Airman is always hard for me to get through without crying. Trever was a sweet guy who served this country well on numerous overseas assignments including ones to Afghanistan and Qatar, which is where he met his wife who is also an Air Force veteran.

Our veterans come back from these things changed. Their scars run deep and are not visible on the outside. Far too often, they do what Trever did and take their own lives. That needs to stop. He is greatly missed every day, but even more so on the special days like today, his birthday. They are all missed. We need to do better by them.

Not long ago, the United States implemented a much easier to remember suicide hotline. It is 988. If you know anyone who is struggling, let them know that help is available.

Until next time. Hug your loved ones, thank a veteran, and stay warm if you’re in the path of this cold front and incoming winter storm.

Tammy Marshall

Beyond the paywall is another section of my current work in process. If you’d like to be able to follow my progress as I write my 8th novel, please upgrade to paid status. It is only a handful of dollars each month. Thanks.