December 7, 1991

Eighteen thousand two-hundred and fifty days after the attack

Third Person POV

With their arms linked, the two walked together down the path with bouquets in their hands. Surrounded by miniature American flags and tombstones they quickly spotted the headstone that was beautifully engraved. The older man with the significant limp stopped and knelt first, with the help of the old lady beside him. She knelt beside him as well, tears welling at the corner of her eyes.

The old visitors placed the bouquet gently on either side of the plaque, memories flooding the two as they remembered the years that led up to the man's death. It had been a slow, long, and agonizing death that had taken a significant toll on the two, as they basically had become his caretaker in his last years. The old lady, Rosa had been significantly devastated when the man's diagnosis had been discovered, while the old man had been determined to help the man he had called a friend in his time of need.

They sat next to each other in the freshly cut grass, the morning dew still coating some of the blades of grass. The sounds of birds chirping, as they sat in silence, sadness in the air.

The old man caressed the engraved letters that made up the man's name, reflecting on his relationship with the man he had grown to know and care for all those years. Sorrow welled up in the pit of his stomach, as he remembered the last few weeks and months they shared. It was difficult to watch someone you care about suffer as he did, and knew it must have been worse for Rosa, as she silently sobbed, gripping the hem of her dress.

However, the man had been in the same situation fifty years ago, watching the country suffer from the immediate devastation from that day that changed America forever. The old man had been in Rosa's shoes, watching the USS Arizona explode into flames. The agony of not knowing the whereabouts of the people you work with, the people you had once called family, was insurmountable. The days, weeks, and even months of searching, trying to recover all those who perished. The guilt of not being on board with them in their time of need.

From that day on infamy, there had been some hope. A hope that the old man and Rosa had been grateful for. A blessing they had cherished but was riddled with heartbreak and complications. A blessing that had quickly turned to tragedy.

The old man deemed it unfair. A man so honorable, benevolent, and genuine, sentenced to a life of pain and suffering. Had the old man found a way to absorb the man's pain, he'd have done so in a heartbeat. 

Rosa gripped the old man's arm, looking for comfort, as the tears kept falling. He placed his other hand on hers, a gentle kiss to her cheek.

It had only been a few years since his passing, but the old man knew that being here with Rosa was important. He had once tried to avoid them long ago when he himself had learned of his terminal illness, that he kept hidden from everyone, including Rosa. She had already been dealing with caring for the other man, he knew he could take care of himself. Avoiding Rosa was not something he could do now. He needed to be here for her, and for the man she cared for.

She squeezed his hand, "thank you"

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," he replied, looking at the other families that were gathering at other headstones.

The old man thought about the disease he was fighting. He knew he couldn't hide it from her forever. Eventually, the symptoms would be too noticeable. He knew he didn't want her to go through this again. Not this soon. Rosa deserved better than this. But the old man knew he had made a promise to the man in front of them.

Collin, I'll take care of Rosa, don't worry. The old man touched the tombstone one last time, before walking with Rosa to the car. No matter how much time he had left, he was going to honor his friend's last wishes.