Local municipalities stopped traffic at intersections along the route, waving us through as our line of vehicles slowly snaked toward the final destination. Then, even after we arrived there was a substantial delay. So many people had turned out for this solemn occasion that it took several minutes before everyone was parked and the graveside service could officially commence.

Around us now was a sea of uniforms intermixing with the suits, dresses, and overcoats, all in varying hues of grey and black. If there were any other colors, I didn’t recognize them. The world had been leached to dull black-and-white halftones for me.

In my eyes, most everyone else was a faceless, nameless mannequin set apart from the others only by the subtle differences in shades of their dark clothing. While I recognized some of the officers I had worked with over the years, those few were the exceptions to the rule.

Each member of the law enforcement who was present wore a black band across his or her shield. Even though my mind was blending the crowd together in response to my grief, the overt display of respect for a fallen comrade stood out and was impossible to ignore. Another salient observation was that among them, almost any local department I could readily name appeared to be represented here by at least one officer or detective, if not more.

With abrupt sharpness, a loud crack split the cool morning air, and my wife flinched at the sound. The members of the rifle squad moved smoothly through the ceremonious steps of lowering the weapons, then on cue, placing them back against their shoulders in preparation for firing the second volley of blanks.

Felicity leaned against me. I slipped my arm around her and held her tight; her body was tense, as if she was steeling herself against what we all knew was coming next. Even so, she started as the second round and then the third sounded their reports across the cemetery grounds.