Harold knew her name. He paid for her stone every January for fifty years. He never told me and now I have this thing that is both a gift and a loss at the same time, and I’m sitting with it the same way I imagine he did.

Quietly. By myself. Trying to figure out what to do with it.

I don’t have a lesson for you. I’m not sure I even have an ending. I just found her name and I needed to put it somewhere.