50 Bikers Blocked a Funeral After Protesters Screamed at a Dead Soldier’s Mother

The bikers came after I had already stopped believing in God.

I was kneeling in front of my son’s casket. Daniel was twenty-four. He came home in that box on a Tuesday.

Across the road, they were screaming. Fifteen of them, maybe twenty. Holding signs that said my boy was burning where he belonged.

My husband Earl was trying to cover my ears with his hands. His own hands were shaking too hard to help.

The chaplain kept trying to speak. Every time he opened his mouth, those people just screamed louder.

I remember thinking, this is the last thing Daniel will ever hear. Not his mama’s voice. Not “Taps.” Just hate.

I closed my eyes and I asked God why. I asked him what my boy did to deserve this on the day we put him in the ground.

Then I heard the engines.

I thought more of them were coming. I thought they were bringing trucks. I actually prayed right there, prayed the ground would open up and swallow me before it got any worse.