the day would end with an amorous evening at the Del; what he hoped would be the perfect romantic setting to solidify their commitment to a future together.
“I’m so excited!” she said. “You make life so much fun.” He reached over and took her hand.
The day was clear with an average temperature for December of sixty-four. Ryan brought along an extra jacket for Emily. The daily closing time for the park was adjusted seasonally to correspond with the breathtaking sunsets; one of the main reasons for visiting the park. Today, sunset was forecast to be at 4:57 p.m.
A few miles after turning onto Catalina Boulevard, the scenic drive took them to Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery; Ryan’s first planned stop.
It was beautiful, yet sobering. The two-lane road divided tens-of-thousands of unpretentious white grave markers spreading over acres of meticulously manicured lawns. Many of the gravesites were dressed with Christmas wreaths and grave blankets from loved ones; seasonal gifts of respect and love.
As he turned into the cemetery, she said, “I never expected our romantic date to include a visit to a graveyard.”
He smiled, but offered no response. A feeling of quiet reverence permeated the silence.
“Look,” she said. An older couple was placing a wreath on a grave. “That could have been their son.”
“Might even be a father or grandfather,” he added. “Some of the graves here date back to the battle of San Pasqual in 1846.” He pointed off to the left across the green lawn and rows of white markers. “Do you see that large boulder?”
“You mean that big rock in the middle of the cemetery?”
“Yeah. It was brought here in 1922 by the San Diego chapter of the Native Sons and Daughters of the Golden West. A plaque is attached to the face of the stone listing the names of those who died in the battle.”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
“I love military history.”
Although Ryan enjoyed reading about military history, the details of the Rosecrans National Cemetery were mostly uncovered in his research and preparation for his date with Emily. He hoped a short drive through the cemetery would allow him to point out, in a visual way, the brevity of life and the need to live each day to the fullest—something he had embraced since the death of his father. The trip to the cemetery served two purposes: to see how she would respond to a more serious side of life and to encourage a sense of urgency to take their relationship to the next level—marriage.
They drove slowly along the smooth, black lane as it wound through the acres of white grave markers. Wind rustled the leaves as a single crow cawed. The eerie quiet held the voices of the decaying bones and mortified flesh of lives once lived, as if to the visitors they said: “embrace the present—make each day count.”
The markers were identical except for the chiseled inscriptions listing the specifics of the deceased: name, dates, branch of service, home state, and more. Emily read the states as they drove by: “Alabama, Virginia, Tennessee, Texas, California….”
Occasionally they would drive by a marker with freshly turned dirt at its base; the sign of a new grave.
He pulled the car to the side of the narrow road, rolled down his window, and turned off the engine. Whispering winds rustled the branches of the towering trees. A crow cawed, breaking the silence.
Without saying a word, he pointed out beyond the front of the car at a small gathering of people seated in front of the casket. He and Emily sat quietly and watched.
Three Navy soldiers dressed in dark uniforms stood at attention beside the casket. While two of the soldiers held a stiff salute, the third soldier raised a bugle to his lips and played “Taps”; the smooth, tender, touching farewell, lasting less than a minute.
When the bugler lowered his bugle, the other two soldiers marched to a point in front of a woman dressed in black. One soldier presented the woman
“I’m so excited!” she said. “You make life so much fun.” He reached over and took her hand.
The day was clear with an average temperature for December of sixty-four. Ryan brought along an extra jacket for Emily. The daily closing time for the park was adjusted seasonally to correspond with the breathtaking sunsets; one of the main reasons for visiting the park. Today, sunset was forecast to be at 4:57 p.m.
A few miles after turning onto Catalina Boulevard, the scenic drive took them to Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery; Ryan’s first planned stop.
It was beautiful, yet sobering. The two-lane road divided tens-of-thousands of unpretentious white grave markers spreading over acres of meticulously manicured lawns. Many of the gravesites were dressed with Christmas wreaths and grave blankets from loved ones; seasonal gifts of respect and love.
As he turned into the cemetery, she said, “I never expected our romantic date to include a visit to a graveyard.”
He smiled, but offered no response. A feeling of quiet reverence permeated the silence.
“Look,” she said. An older couple was placing a wreath on a grave. “That could have been their son.”
“Might even be a father or grandfather,” he added. “Some of the graves here date back to the battle of San Pasqual in 1846.” He pointed off to the left across the green lawn and rows of white markers. “Do you see that large boulder?”
“You mean that big rock in the middle of the cemetery?”
“Yeah. It was brought here in 1922 by the San Diego chapter of the Native Sons and Daughters of the Golden West. A plaque is attached to the face of the stone listing the names of those who died in the battle.”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
“I love military history.”
Although Ryan enjoyed reading about military history, the details of the Rosecrans National Cemetery were mostly uncovered in his research and preparation for his date with Emily. He hoped a short drive through the cemetery would allow him to point out, in a visual way, the brevity of life and the need to live each day to the fullest—something he had embraced since the death of his father. The trip to the cemetery served two purposes: to see how she would respond to a more serious side of life and to encourage a sense of urgency to take their relationship to the next level—marriage.
They drove slowly along the smooth, black lane as it wound through the acres of white grave markers. Wind rustled the leaves as a single crow cawed. The eerie quiet held the voices of the decaying bones and mortified flesh of lives once lived, as if to the visitors they said: “embrace the present—make each day count.”
The markers were identical except for the chiseled inscriptions listing the specifics of the deceased: name, dates, branch of service, home state, and more. Emily read the states as they drove by: “Alabama, Virginia, Tennessee, Texas, California….”
Occasionally they would drive by a marker with freshly turned dirt at its base; the sign of a new grave.
He pulled the car to the side of the narrow road, rolled down his window, and turned off the engine. Whispering winds rustled the branches of the towering trees. A crow cawed, breaking the silence.
Without saying a word, he pointed out beyond the front of the car at a small gathering of people seated in front of the casket. He and Emily sat quietly and watched.
Three Navy soldiers dressed in dark uniforms stood at attention beside the casket. While two of the soldiers held a stiff salute, the third soldier raised a bugle to his lips and played “Taps”; the smooth, tender, touching farewell, lasting less than a minute.
When the bugler lowered his bugle, the other two soldiers marched to a point in front of a woman dressed in black. One soldier presented the woman
Similar Books
