Respectful Bikers Update

I previously posted about a funeral procession of Bikers that we approached from our trip from the engagement party and stated that I wished I knew the details of the event. (scroll down to "Respectful Bikers" if you haven't read the original post)
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A reader and friend sent me the link from the Lubbock, Texas paper of the write up. In fact, TWO readers sent me updates on the Bikers.
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Below is the posted article from the Lubbock-Avalanche Journal. (and the link if you prefer to go to the original source) The red, high-lighted paragraphs cover the description of what we saw.

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http://lubbockonline.com/stories/100807/loc_100807035.shtml
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Ralls native son killed in Iraq attack to be laid to rest Tuesday

Fallen soldier makes journey home

AVALANCHE-JOURNAL

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Seven men in dress greens marched across the tarmac, filing into place before the raised door of the charter plane.. .
The Olguins walked out next, their arms wrapped around each other's backs. They stood a short distance behind the burial detachment, wincing in the sun; Sid and Gail and their son, Joey, and Sgt. Randell Olguin's wife, Anna, and her mother.

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The pilots fitted a metal ramp in place and guided a veiled elevator down with a mechanical whine. A staff sergeant who escorted Olguin climbed out of the plane. A short distance away, from the rear of the hearse where sisters and uncles and cousins waited, light caught the American flag in the dim of the plane's hold.

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Sgt. Randell "Randy" Olguin, 24, returned Sunday morning to Lubbock. Olguin died during a small arms attack on his unit as they patrolled Baghdad on Sept. 30, according to the Department of Defense. He was the fourth of five area soldiers killed this year.

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Randy's family met him Sunday morning on an empty tarmac east of the Lubbock International Airport. They watched quietly as a small, rolling elevator lowered his flag-draped casket before the waiting soldiers. His father, Sid, who said he served 12 years in the U.S. Army, joined a final salute to his son.

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"When I seen him up there, getting off the plane, that's when it really hit me," Sid said later, his voice breaking. "I don't have him anymore."

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His family kept hoping last week they'd wake up from the nightmare, praying and waiting for him to call and tell them he was coming home. This didn't feel real. Randy was the youngest, a cut-up at home who was respectful and quiet at school, and worked hard on every athletic team that could take him. He talked about his dream of serving with the Army through high school, and he died not long after reenlisting, serving his second tour in Iraq.

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Even Sunday morning, as the family traveled around the airport looking for the right place to meet the plane, they felt their brother right there, teasing them.
"I tried to straighten my hair this morning, and I knew it was Randy," Jennie said, laughing and brushing some wavy blonde strands out of her face. "Every time I straightened it, it would just crimp back up."

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Family from all over Texas stood near the hearse as the casket approached. Some wore shirts with Randy's picture on the front. The burial detachment from Fort Hood leaned forward, gliding toward the waiting relatives. His sisters began to sob.

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Freedom Riders, their motorcycles decorated with American flags, idled outside the private terminal to escort Randy back to Ralls. Traffic yielded to let the procession turn onto the highway. Cars, trucks, cotton strippers and campers rolled to a stop as they approached. No police escort guided the long line of slow cars and motorcycles until the Crosby County line - but mile after mile, highway traffic pulled off to the shoulder.

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The procession eased into the town, a small number of residents leaving their homes or cars as it made its way to the funeral home. A deputy escorting the procession stopped and stood next to the truck, covering his heart.

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Randy was not far from where he grew up now. The detachment's polished shoes clicked on the funeral home's concrete driveway. The family watched as they pulled the casket out of the hearse and waited patiently for the funeral director to remove an elegant cart he had offered to move the coffin into the home. The soldiers would carry Randy into the building with a whispering shuffle of side steps. His parents and family filed through the front.

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Sid and Gail sat in a red love seat in the funeral home's small greeting room, surrounded and waiting in the cold, perfumed air. A young niece brought Gail a box of tissues. Piano music played quietly from an open office. Sid turned his black hat in his hand, fidgeting next to his wife, waiting. He stood to talk to a visitor in a side office.

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The family would get to see Randy today, he said. They were waiting for some preparations to finish. He never felt the denial, the dream-like numbness others in the family had over the week, he said. Still, it was only now becoming real, he said.

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Big wooden doors swung open, and Randy's parents and siblings walked into a long viewing room. The casket lay open now, under a giant portrait of Christ.

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Wails filled the funeral home. The family huddled at Randy's side. Randy's wife found her mother's arms, and they stood near his feet for a time, tears running down her cheeks. Sid shook, seeing his son. He held his wife and finally staggered away from the casket through family to a couch to cradle his head in his hands. Joey broke free next.

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"Come on, baby," Gail said, reaching out to Joey.
"Just wake up," Joey begged, sobbing the command, standing near his brother's head.
"No, baby," his mother said softly, stepping between her sons.
"I don't want to be here," he said, turning, fighting for air, crashing away. Gail pressed her hands to her face and watched as another family member caught him to comfort him.
His oldest sister, Jennie, held him.
"He's my baby brother," she said, her voice muffled as her face pressed into Joey's shoulder. "He's my baby brother."

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Neighbors and even strangers touched the intimate ceremony Sunday. His high school coach had brought the family Randy's baseball jersey. E-mail filtered in from his Army buddies and their families, former coaches, from across the world, all trying to describe the soldier or athlete they knew and how important he was to those around him.

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Such kindness helped Ray Davis and his wife work through the loss of their son, Chris, in June to an improvised explosive device. The couple traveled from Lubbock to be with the Olguins at the funeral home and described praying with strangers and focusing on their faith.

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"Just to have faith in the Lord, that we'll see him again someday," Ray said. "But I kind of know what they're going through right now. It's bad."

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Sfc. Ronald Turner and Randy's escort, Sgt. Michael Carrasco, stood silent in the greeting room of the funeral home, but the burial detachment had left. The Freedom Riders made a respectful exit before the viewing room opened.

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Only the Olguins and their friends and family stayed now, holding each other on the porch, slumped into the furniture. No one was waking up.

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Sgt. Randell Olguin was home.

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Now we know the rest of the story!