This past Monday evening I had the opportunity to attend a Service of Remembrance of sorts. Some might refer to it as a memorial service, but I chose to think of it more as a time to reflect than a time to memorialize. Two years ago—on September 25th—Matthew Stephen Locke was killed serving those he had sworn to protect . . . literally laying down his life for a total stranger. And now, two years later, we had come to recall his heroism on that terrible night.
It was a beautiful evening. The sun had begun its descent into the horizon and the breeze was just enough to be pleasant without being obnoxious in the process. The parking lot of the Sheriff’s Department, where the event was held, was completely surrounded by patrol cars of all makes and models, each facing the street, each ready to leave at a moment’s notice. To me, their presence and position were especially symbolic. Facing away from those who came—because we remember. Facing into the world—to serve as a reminder of the loss and the absence. Those who had gathered . . . family members . . . friends and co-workers . . . representatives of city, county, and state law enforcement . . . were all there for one purpose—to honor Matt and his sacrifice.
There were words of welcome and words of acknowledgement . . . words of comfort and words of encouragement. Sandwiched in between was the music, something I have often said can touch the soul when mere words fail. The second song was “Amazing Grace”, performed live by two of his fellow officers. As they began, Matt’s dad rose from his chair and walked to where several balloons were tethered. Within moments they rose into the air, tiny black and blue dots gently carried from our sight by the same breeze that had cooled us just minutes before. As they drifted away, the officers walked to their vehicles and switched on the red and blue lights many of us know far too well. Only this time, they weren’t meant as a warning. This time they stood silently in place, asking the world to slow down and take notice . . . to remember.
In less than 30 minutes, the last official words had been spoken and the final prayer offered. We were dismissed, but very few left. Instead, they gathered in smaller groups, visiting with their friends and comrades, perhaps sharing stories of Matt. Perhaps speaking of how difficult it is to believe two years have passed since that horrific night. And yet, here we were . . . two years later . . . still celebrating his life. Still mourning his death.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926. She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
