Hello

I received this photo recently, and it reminded me of May 1, 2026—the day my husband, Dan; our daughter-in-law, Michelle; and I were invited to read the names of the 52 Fallen SCHP Troopers at the annual Fallen Troopers Memorial.

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I remember that phone call vividly. I was stunned for a few moments, then deeply humbled. Through tears, I gratefully accepted the request to honor these precious souls, one of whom was our son, D. Keith Rebman, Jr., EOW October 24, 2017. The world felt tilted that day. I struggled to stay focused on my daily tasks, yet I also felt honored, bold, and strong. I knew I could do this. Yes, we would do this together as a family.

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A few days prior to the memorial, we had enjoyed "Cup of Blue" with many Law Enforcement Officers from across middle Georgia and South Carolina. It was a blessed night and a great success, filled with smiles from LEOs and their precious families.

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We arrived early for the Memorial and joined Colonel Williamson in his office for a few minutes—my first time visiting that special room. It felt surreal. I held back a desperate urge to cry. My weary nervous system demanded release, but it wasn't the time. Several other families were there with us, feeling much of what my heart was feeling. Honor, yes. But also: What am I doing here? Colonel Williamson was kind and jovial to have us, yet he seemed nervous too, likely because of the heavy reason we were all there. Preparing to remember is hard work. We want to do it well, even when our hearts are working just as hard to protect themselves from the pain our bodies and minds recall.

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We were sweetly escorted downstairs to join a host of freshly pressed uniforms and grieving families. Warm handshakes, hugs, finding our seats, and breathing deeply. Do not cry, I told myself, even though my body felt like it already had. Colors presented, prayer prayed, wreaths placed. Then, we were asked to come to the podium.

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It felt like an out-of-body experience. I saw Tammie and Captain Edwards, who had so graciously come to stand with us. Charlee had tears in her eyes, as did Mrs. Rao and another precious mama I didn't yet know. Then it was my turn to read the names I've heard spoken aloud for eight years. Holy Spirit, be bold in me. Give me breath to speak his name, their names, with honor.

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I am a mom who has buried her son, a man who wore that gray, freshly pressed uniform with such pride. I am so proud of him. I miss him deeply every day. As I read his name, tears fell again. Dang it. I will forever remember that day with deep, awful pain... and with great pride.

 

Thank you, Colonel, for asking us.