I haven’t posted in a while because every time I’ve touched the computer, I’ve wanted to talk about Freeman or the war or something like that. And when I think too much about it, I just end up getting depressed all over again. But it’s been a week since we buried Freeman, and I’ve slowly gotten out of my funk.
Freeman’s service was beautiful. He was represented by not only many Alpha brothers, but by the military as well. He was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart (among other medals). He was also given a 21 gun salute.
My fraternity also performed what is called an “Omega Service” for him. The ceremony is performed for members that have passed away, and it includes both signing and speaking. I’m by no means a singer, but I’ve never sang as passionately as I did that day.
I don’t like to think of Freeman dying in a war that I don’t agree with, because I don’t want to belittle his life’s worth. I prefer to believe that Freeman died trying to protect the men in his unit. I prefer to believe that Freeman died trying to create a better life for his family. I prefer to believe that Freeman died trying to ensure a people’s freedom, whether or not those being freed will ever understand his great sacrifice.