And then, somehow without even thinking, I find myself doing the same things I've done for the past several years during the week before the OSU-Michigan game. My car almost drives itself past the unassuming white house on Cardiff Road. Then it's on to Ohio Stadium and just a few miles north on Olentangy River Road to Union Cemetery. I always seem to arrive around dusk and the expanse of trees usually makes it seem darker than normal. But I've made this trip so many times, I could make it blindfolded.
It was a raw evening – cold, windy and wet with rain alternating between a fine mist and those huge pellets that splash on the pavement when they hit. But there are tall inviting trees in proximity to the black granite marker at Section 12, Lot 37, Space 4, and I take my place beneath the rustling pines.
I stood there, transfixed on the monument and began to read aloud the words etched on the stone.
"And in the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love hears the rustle of a wing."
As I pondered those words, and the wind continued to whistle through the trees, I was startled by what has become a familiar voice.
Read the rest by clicking on this link: Rea's Say: Nov. 26.