They Assumed I’d Sit Quietly at the Service—Until I Texted “Raven.” The church held that soft, steady warmth—candlelight, organ notes, the quiet rustle of coats settling into pews. Outside, a flag near the front steps moved with the breeze. My father’s photo rested near the altar, his dress uniform crisp in the frame, the medals catching light each time someone shifted. I sat in the first pew with my husband, Mark, hands folded the way people do when they’re keeping themselves together in public