The funeral was a full Catholic Mass followed by a graveside service. The priest droned on and on, an attempt to provide comfort to his family I suppose. No parent should have to bury their child but today, Mr. and Mrs. Manoso would do just that. Mr. Manoso was stoic while Mrs. Manoso wept quietly into a white laced handkerchief throughout the service. His brother and sisters clutched tissues to wipe errant tears, but they were there to provide comfort and support to their parents today. They would grieve on their own later.

The Merry Men stood behind the family. Those who had served were dressed in their military Class A uniforms, while the others chose to honor their leader by wearing RangeMan black. The ribbons and medals adorning those in uniform gave the Burg curious a small glimpse into the reality of the 'thugs' employed by RangeMan. Even the most uninformed recognized the Congressional Medal of Honor on Tank's chest. I knew a matching medal rested on the chest of the deceased.

The deceased. That's how I had to think of him for now. If I even thought his name, I wouldn't be able to get through today. Tank and Lester flanked me like bookends, ready to catch me if I collapsed. In case I could no longer bear the weight of my grief. Intellectually, I knew I wasn't the only one grieving, but emotionally my grief was all I could comprehend.

Technically, we weren't a couple; there was no 'relationship' because his life didn't lend itself to relationships. But he was mine and I was his. Whatever we were, we were that thing together. How could he be gone? How did I go on without him in my life?

Finally, the priest was done. Two uniformed service members approached the coffin and lifted the flag that had been draped over it. Their movements were practiced and precise as they folded the flag into the familiar triangle. One of the team members handed the flag to Mrs. Manoso while offering her condolences from a grateful nation.

Even though I knew the gunfire was coming next, each volley of the 21 gun salute caused me to flinch. When the last echo faded, the bugler began his soulful song. Taps always brought me to tears, but oddly, today I remained dry eyed. Maybe I had no tears left. Most likely, I was in denial.

I declined the offer of a ride to the Manoso's home, where casseroles and cakes would line the buffet table. I hoped the company of family and friends would comfort his parents, but I couldn't do it any longer. I needed to be alone. Tank offered to drive me back to my apartment. I accepted because I needed a ride and I knew Tank wouldn't try to make small talk on the ride back from Newark.

Neither of us had spoken when we pulled into my parking lot an hour later. I mumbled my thanks and moved to open the door when he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

He cleared his throat nervously and said, "Normally this would come from a general or someone in the chain of command, but Ranger left this with me in case, well, this is for you."

Tank handed me a plain white envelope with 'Babe' written across the front. Nothing else, just 'Babe'.

With a nod of appreciation, I took the envelope from Tank's grasp, opened the door and exited the RangeMan SUV. I moved through the lobby and took the stairs to the second floor. Mrs. Bestler was waiting in the elevator but I wasn't ready to interact with anyone just yet.

As I entered my apartment my mind flashed back on the times he had entered before me to clear my apartment and make sure my lunatic du jour wasn't lurking under the bed with the dust bunnies.

I hung up my bag and coat on the hooks in my small foyer and moved to the couch. I propped the white envelope up on the coffee table and stared at the neat handwriting on the front. If the name on the front wasn't a dead giveaway, I would have recognized his deliberate scrawl anywhere.

Why did he leave me a letter from the grave? Didn't he know it would be all I could do to breathe if he were gone? How could I be expected to handle some kind of final goodbye? I continued to stare at the envelope as the light through the living room window moved across the floor. Finally, I realized it was dark, and I needed to turn on the light in order to continue to stare at the handwriting I knew so well.

I stared at it for hours before I finally got the courage to read the letter. The sun had long since set, and the noises I attributed to those going about their lives around me had quieted some time ago. I glanced at the clock and saw it was 1:00 am. It was no longer the day we buried him. Idly, I wondered how long it would be before I stopped thinking of time in terms of before his death and after his death.

I slid my finger under the flap and felt the sharp sting as the paper sliced through my skin just below the fingernail. I welcomed the pain. Nice to know I could still feel something besides the crushing heartache I had been living with since receiving word of his death. Killed in action. Three little words that destroyed my world.

I sucked at the thin slice of blood on my finger before pulling the single sheet of paper from the envelope. Carefully, I unfolded it but closed my eyes at the first word I saw. Babe. I swallowed hard against the growing lump in my throat, knowing it would do no good but still trying to hold back the despair. Just keep it together long enough to read the words that had been important enough to Ranger that he wanted to share them with me. Then I could fall apart.

I opened my eyes and rolled them skyward. Not praying. Not anymore. I had prayed every night after he told me he was leaving. "Please, God, watch over the man I love. Protect him and bring him home safely." God answered my prayers with a no.

Instead, I've rolled my eyes upward to try to contain the tears that threaten to spill out on the paper I'm holding. I don't want to smudge the writing. This is all I have left. A few hard blinks and I'm good. It's a little blurry, but I'm finally able to focus on the words in front of me.

Babe,

I'd like to tell you not to cry, but you've never been one to follow orders. Cry, scream, curse my name. Do whatever it takes. But I want you to know that I lived my life on my own terms and, since you're reading this, know my death was on my own terms as well.

We are told to write letters for our loved ones. These letters are to be delivered in the event of our death. This is the first time I've actually written one of these. Not to be morose, but there has never been anyone I wanted to reassure and leave any "last words" with. My parents have made peace with my choices long ago. Maybe that is the wrong word choice. Let's say they have accepted my chosen path, and they know this is who I am. Or, was.

But you, Babe, you are different….special. You and you alone hold the power to make me rethink the path I started on long before we ever met. Before you, I never questioned the man, the soldier, the mercenary I became. I lived life like each day could be my last, literally. No regrets.

But then I met you, and suddenly, there were regrets. You made me want things I had long ago decided were not in my life plan. Your love, your light, your very being made me long to be a man who was able to give you your heart's desire. You didn't see my dark and damaged soul. You saw a man who was worthy of your love. For that I thank you. And, for that I'm so very sorry for leaving you and for the hurt that my death has caused you.

I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but when have I ever asked permission to insert myself in your life? So, I'm going to ask you to do something for me. Consider this my request from the great beyond. Live your life, Babe. Live it on your terms and in your way, just like I did. Don't let anyone tell you what is right for you. Be the brave, strong, amazing woman I know and love, and live your life the way you choose. Fly, Babe.

My final regret is that I won't be there to see what you do when you break free of those who only hold you back. No amount of garbage, grease or grime could hide what an incredible woman you are, and I looked forward to seeing the day when you realized it as well. I wish I could be there in person, but know I'm there in spirit, every single second.

Please forgive me, Babe. I know you're probably angry at me for leaving, but know I would never leave you by choice.

Te amo.

Carlos

The sob rips through me before I can stop it. Even in death, he supports me. I read the letter two, three, four times, and I resolve to do as he has asked. I will live my life on my own terms, just as he did. I close my eyes once again and my heart whispers "Te amo también, Carlos." I love you, too.