The small country cemetery was deserted that breezy fall day. I walked along the pine tree-lined perimeter, lost in thought. After my husband, Wally, died a year earlier, I didn’t know how I’d go on. I read every grief book, tended to the animals on my farm, went to mass three times a week, but I still glanced out the window every evening, expecting to see Wally’s pickup truck coming round the bend. I couldn’t imagine life without him. I certainly couldn’t imagine falling in love again.
Then I met George. I was in a grief counseling group, sitting in a circle in a church basement with a dozen others, trying to explain how lost I felt. A man beside me listened attentively, nodding along. Tears streamed down his face, like he was sharing in my pain. “I’m George,” he said after the meeting. “Lost my wife of 63 years last year.”
George was a city boy, born and bred in the Bronx. A Navy veteran who’d seen the world. I was a country girl who walked around barefoot feeding chickens. Still, we became instant friends, kindred spirits of sorts. As weeks went by, I began to feel a kind of flutter in my heart whenever I was with him. Was it wrong to have that feeling?
I crouched down in front of the family headstone Wally and I picked out ages ago, both our names etched in granite. There were a number of cemeteries around town, but Wally had preferred this quiet one tucked away in the countryside. Wally, is it okay that I have a new friend? I wondered, brushing fallen leaves off the grave.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something reflecting the sun. A heart-shaped photograph embedded in the headstone next to ours. I took a closer look at the smiling couple—and then gaped at the name on the headstone.
I drove straight to George’s place. I wasn’t sure how he’d react to my discovery. “Your family’s cemetery plot…it’s right next to ours,” I cried. “Same row and everything. Your wife, my husband…”
George’s mouth dropped in disbelief. “Well,” he finally said, breaking into a grin, “guess that means we’ll be pushin’ up daisies together! It’s destiny.”
It sure was. A month later, George and I went on our first date. One year later, we were married.
