a woman’s voice singing. “That’s Mom,” exclaimed Puller. “Where did you get

that?” “Lucy Bristow. She recorded it years ago when Mom sang in the church

choir.” They turned to see their father reach out and touch the recorder, his

eyes now full of tears, a smile etched on his face.

 

He mouthed one word: “Jackie.” * * * The funeral was two days later. It was a

beautiful sunny day at Fort Monroe. The breeze off the water was refreshing. The

sky was streaked with the contrails of military jets taking off from the naval

station across the channel.

 

All three Puller men were in their dress uniforms. The senior Puller’s trio of

stars reflected off the bright sun. The funeral service was at the Catholic

church where Jackie had worshipped and been a volunteer. Father Rooney had come

out of retirement to perform the funeral Mass.

 

The Army had offered to send some junior personnel to attend the funeral. The

Pullers had turned the offer down.

 

Puller had actually used some choicer language than that, but that was the gist.

 

Inside the church, her coffin was placed so that Jackie Puller would be facing

the altar, in accordance with Catholic tradition. A priest’s funeral would have

had him facing the congregation, as he would have done in life.

 

Rooney spoke openly and deeply personally of Jackie Puller and all that she had