The headstone was a simple affair with just the basics: name, years, and a single word - Beloved. And, in that one word was the sum of everything they had been to each other - everything they were still to each other, and not even death could end.
Each week the man would come and sit on the concrete bench by the grave and visit. He would bring fresh flowers to replace those from the week before, carefully placing them just so before taking his seat. Sometimes he would have a book and read aloud, and other times he would share his day, his voice rising and falling, gesturing for emphasis when he was excited.
Not all visits were good. There were days when the man was so overwhelmed with grief that all he did was bow his head and cry, huddling on the ground crushing the flowers he had so carefully arranged. On those days, he would rail and plead to not be left behind to please wait for him.
No matter what had transpired, the man always left the same way. He would place his hand on the headstone with a slight caress, and speaking softly; he professed his love. His parting words were always the same “until I see you again.”
The man’s visits continued like clockwork for many years until one week. That week there was a new grave next to the man’s beloved. The headstone was a simple affair with just the basics: name, years, and three words – Patience is waiting.