“Most of this is strange.”

We drove together to the cemetery.

The trees were turning gold, and the grass was still damp from overnight rain.

The headstone bore her full name and the dates Daniel had supplied.

I had memorized the inscription as a teenager: Beloved wife and mother, forever in our hearts.

Miriam stood looking at it without speaking.

Then she sat on a bench and rubbed her knee.

“I don’t know whether to be angry at this stone or grateful that someone cared enough to visit it,” she said.