War story written in stone, but unseen

The name carved into the cremation niche at the National Memorial Cemetery of Arizona is no more visible today than it was three years ago, when I first spoke to retired Air Force Chief Master Sgt. James J. Larsen.

But his memory of it hasn’t faded. Not one bit. Nor has his desire to have the name of his late wife, Nancy, and the names of others at the cemetery, made bold and clear.

And while the sergeant, 89 and ailing, is nearing the end of his tour of duty, his children plan to complete his final mission. To honor him. To honor their mother.

It’s a simple thing, really.

It seemed simple three years ago, when I first wrote about Larsen and his wife.

There are differences in the way names appear on cremation niches. Some have clear dark lettering. Some have none, making them difficult to read, looking washed out. Faded.

When Larsen and his family pointed out to officials that some inscriptions, newer ones, like their mom’s, did not have black paint highlighting the names and dates, as was done on earlier niches, the excuse they got involved cost and upkeep.

To her family, however, I learned long ago that nothing about Nancy E. Larsen, wife, mother and nurse, should be allowed to fade away, not her 62 years of marriage to the retired sergeant, not the memories of raising four children together, not their adventures all over the world. Not the time he spent caring for her in her final days. Not her name on a cremation niche.

“I’ll be in that same niche with her soon enough, and I’d like to have something done about it,” Larsen told me in 2014. “Although I’m sure the important peo-