The fog hung heavy over the small cemetery. Somewhere above, the sun was trying to shine through, but it wasn’t happening. Not today, not here. The fog hung onto each tomb stone, sliding down the sides and hovered above the ground as if weeping, mourning the lost. If cemeteries weren’t sad and eerie enough, this effect certainly added to it.
He stood at the iron gates, watching the fog as it rolled over the ground. He knew he had to enter. He knew he needed to. He hadn’t out here just stand at the gates and stare wistfully at the long dead occupants of the stone garden. He stepped across the entryway with a ragged sigh. He questioned if he was ready. If it was time for him to really be here.
There was no sound among the stones as he walked slowly. He stopped every few feet and looked around. He half expected to see someone beside him. Someone to hold his hand, to encourage him.
His hands were shaking, his knees week. He passed by a pond. Beautiful in its stillness. It appeared to be made of glass. Not a ripple, as the fog danced across it. A willow tree dipped gracefully towards it, bowing towards it, directing him, pointing the way.
He finally game to the destination he had so long been avoiding. A stone he had chosen so long ago. An angel was lying over top of the stone, as if mourning as well. He swallowed hard, the tears welling up.
He had almost forgotten the bouquet of white roses in his hand. They had always been her favorite. He stood there. His mouth dry. Staring down at the stone. So long. It had been so long since he had been there. He was ashamed. Deeply ashamed. Ashamed of his weakness. That he has been away so long. He should have been there every day for her. Tending her overgrown grave. But he hadn’t been. Because he was weak.
Overcome with a wave of grief, he fell to his knees. The grass was wet with dew. The breath came out of him a harsh rush. He held back a sob as he ran his fingers over her name. She was gone. He would never get over it. He would never get her back. Never see it, hold her, lover her.
He laid the roses gently at the foot of the stone, pulling up weeds, things he should have been doing all along. He felt guilt and grief wash over him like a tidal wave, one after another after another.
She was his wife. His Grace. His saving Grace, he had called her. And she had left him.
He bowed his head, his white hair falling into his eyes. He had 50 years of beautiful memories, a wonderful marriage, children, grandchildren, so much to be thankful for. But he didn’t have his Grace.
He took a shaky breath and stood up. He whispered promises to her. As he looked up, she was there. Standing in front of him. She smiled, sweetly. She was radiant, glowing in her beauty. She seemed to be lit from within, a light shinning around her.
He knew it couldn’t be. But there she was, standing in the fog. His heart skipped with joy, love and a little fear. She reached out for his hand.
He swallowed hard and smiled back. Grace had come for him. He had prayed for this, and it had come. He reached out and took her hand. It was soft and warm as he had remembered. He walked up to her and she lay her other hand on his cheek. She said nothing as she lie on single kiss on his cheek.
Then, hand in hand, the two walked off into the fog. Together, forever. At last.