On Jan. 5, 2005, my friend John died of lung cancer at age 52. We have a tradition of visiting his gravesite to drop off a few small branches from our Christmas tree and a cup of hot black coffee, just the way he liked it.
So Sunday morning we drove down to Wilmington, only to find the gates of the cemetery padlocked. Even the pedestrian entrance was locked.
Dearest Partner came up with a brilliant Plan B. We drove just up the road to the Tower Hill School, John's alma mater, left the Christmas tree branches near the athletic field, poured the still-steaming coffee into the earth -- and wished him well.
(We phoned the number on the cemetery gates to find out what was going on. A very apologetic administrator phoned us back and said the custodian had been unable to open the gates that morning due to an emergency. She said she was sending her husband over that very minute to do so.)
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