Gather round it's story time

There once was a little old man. He was old, feeble, gentle, soft spoken, with rough leathered hands that had seen too many hard days. His wife has died and he is alone in their house, alone in their bed, alone in their world. His many long years have etched meticulous patterns into his life. It's not so much that everything needs to be done just-so, more that everything in this life should be given the attention it deserves, out of respect and honor, for that is what his life has been built upon.

Today he broke free of his routine and went to visit his wife. Pride in his pocket, love in his heart, steel in his bones, he trekked to the cemetery to visit her there. Today was going to be different for him. Since his wife had died, his world had all but stopped. He was heroic seeing her through until her final breath. He insisted that he would head the casket as it was carried out. He could bring himself to do everything, just not the last step which, to him, signified a final goodbye and acceptance. He was waiting until it was right in his heart, and then he would himself design and carve a stone to mark the final resting place of his beloved.

Today was the day that he would view this cemetery anew. He anticipated what it would be like to see that small plot of land and know that today he was ready to move forward. He was ready to measure it and begin the drawings for the headstone. It had taken him time to get here, to this point of admission, but it was the right time - his soul told him so. He had already purchased the adjacent plot so that when the time came, he could be buried next to his bride both eternally in heaven, and physically here on earth. He'd already decided that the headstone would be inscribed on the right with his wife's name, and the left side would remain untouched until the time came to bury him. This would be his final well thought out,outward sign of the love for his wife, for the world to see.

He now advances and closes the gap between himself and his wife. As he approaches he almost can not breathe. There is a binding in his chest that prevents him from inhaling, though his eyes have no problem seeing what lies before him. It seems someone on their own will felt that he didn't have the money, or maybe the time, perhaps thought that he was taking too long to mark the grave respectfully. Little did they know that this was to be HIS closure.

There upon the grave sat a single headstone for his wife - one that he had never seen, never been made aware of, and one... that left no room for him, either in its production or in its meaning.