By Dan Zak
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, July 30, 2006; SM01
The parking lot at Patuxent Presbyterian Church was full by 12:45 p.m. Thursday, so cars began lining up along the grassy shoulder of Route 4 in California. Painted on the rear window of one was this:
Cpl. Matt Wallace
served in honor
died in honor
12.27.83 -- 7.21.2006
Their motorcycles nearby, a phalanx of Patriot Guard Riders stood quietly at the church entrance, holding up American flags and turning the sidewalk into a star-spangled passageway. At 1 p.m., the coffin bearing the remains of Matthew Phillip Wallace passed by the riders, into the church lobby, where his Purple Heart medal was displayed on a table.
As the pianist inside the church transitioned from "America the Beautiful" to "Amazing Grace," more than 400 people stood and turned. Pallbearers guided the coffin down the aisle to a space in front of the altar.
"We're here today in a season of skepticism of duty, honor and loyalty," Lanny Clark, pastor of Patuxent River Assembly of God, said at the lectern. "And yet we're celebrating these very ideals shared by many of us and taken personally by Matthew in his young life."
Wallace, 22, died July 21 in a military hospital in Landstuhl, Germany, five days after a roadside bomb exploded near his Bradley Fighting Vehicle in Baghdad. Wallace, who enlisted in the Army in 2004 and deployed to Iraq in December, was a gunner on top of the vehicle at the time of the explosion.
He suffered burns on over 95 percent of his body and was evacuated to Germany, where he was later pronounced brain dead. His family -- mother Mary, father Keith and three sisters -- flew to Germany, said their goodbyes and were at his side when he died after life support measures were removed.
Wallace, who attended Great Mills High School through his sophomore year before earning a GED in 2001, will be buried Wednesday at Arlington National Cemetery.
Thursday's two-hour funeral service in St. Mary's County brought moments of reflection, grief, hope and gratitude. Wallace's family, friends and teachers, though devastated by the loss, committed themselves to seeking solace in each other and in God, voicing the faith that they would see Matthew again.
In front of the congregation, his sister Jessica, 24, recalled how Matt grew tired of his uncertain future in 2003 and sought direction by joining the Army. Four months later, Jessica was in Kentucky to attend his graduation from boot camp. Before he went to Iraq, the pair had lengthy discussions about death and what Wallace wanted to do over there.
"I didn't go to boot camp to sit behind a desk," Jessica remembered him saying. "Jessica, I don't want to die, but I will. Someone has to."
His sisters prepared a video slide show that was projected on the front wall of the church as the song "Satellite" by P.O.D. blared over speakers. There were photos of Wallace as a baby, being held by his sister. Wallace as a toddler, in the snow. Wallace with a surfboard. In a bunny costume. In Iraq. Wearing a military camouflage T-shirt as a boy, then in real fatigues as a man.
Keith Wallace recounted the family's arrival in Germany on July 21 and how at the hospital they were gowned, gloved and masked before they could see Matthew, who was bandaged and breathing with the help of a machine. From the initial agony came comfort, Keith said, describing how family members stroked Matt's head and recited Scripture.
"I'll cherish the memory my whole life because it was the final act of demonstrated love," he said. "To say into his ears, 'Matt. It's Dad. I'm here.' To be by his side. This was testimony to the restoration of a father and son to one another."
Other family members and friends painted a picture of a fiercely loyal brother, a wayward man who changed to became "determination incarnate" -- someone who was passionate and proud, who loved his country and his friends.
His sister Micah, 16, was doing missionary work in Panama when Wallace was wounded. She spoke to the congregation as though she were addressing her brother.
"Every time I look in the mirror, I'll see your eyes, Matt, because they match mine," she said.
And his sister Abigail, 19, a Navy midshipman third class in the NROTC, said: "Every marriage that occurs will be Matt's, and every child born will bear the Wallace name, because Matt's service made those possible."
Wallace's best friend, Matt Korade, made an unplanned trip to the lectern.
"Originally I wasn't going to say anything, but Matt's right there staring at me," said Korade, drawing laughs from the crowd as he pointed to a large photo of Wallace that was in front of his seat. "We always had each other's backs. I just want to say thank you to the family, for giving me a brother."
Mary Wallace acknowledged neighbors, friends and organizations that have come to her family's aid over the days since her son was mortally wounded in Baghdad.
"We will never know how much was done to buffer us, to feed us," she said.
She then asked the active-duty military personnel at the service to stand. Eight people in varied uniforms rose slowly from their seats, and the crowd showered them with prolonged applause. Then she asked the reservists to stand -- four did, including Abigail. And then Mary Wallace did the same for retired military. About 35 men and women, in and out of uniform, were standing at that point. There were few dry eyes.
"Please, now, all of you, look around at these, our heroes," Mary Wallace said. "Each has made the same commitment that Matthew did. For your commitment, your service, we thank you."