I couldn’t make up my mind: “Do I go to Arlington prior to the service at the Wall or not?” I asked my daughter.
“It’s up to you,” Shelby replied. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
It was almost ten o’clock. The service at the Wall wasn’t until 1 p.m. I debated the matter in the hotel elevator and as we walked through the lobby of the Key Bridge Marriott. By the time we walked outside, I called for an Uber to take us to Arlington.
I knew Trump would be there. I had my sign with me from the day before. The one I held as I stood in the pouring rain outside the White House. The one that declared “Purple Hearts are not tokens to be bought and bartered. They are earned through blood and sacrifice.” I planned to leave the sign at the Wall as a gift for my father who earned his Purple Heart and whose ceremony I remember like it was yesterday. Better than yesterday, actually.