ADVERTISEMENT
A Biker Showed Up At My Wife’s Grave Every Week And I Had No Idea Who He Was
The first time I saw him, I thought he had the wrong grave. The cemetery’s big. Mistakes happen. But he came back. Again and again.
I started to feel something I didn’t expect: anger. Who was this man? How did he know my wife? Why was he grieving her with such devotion when some of her own family hadn’t visited in months?
She was a pediatric nurse. She volunteered at church. She drove a minivan. Her idea of rebellion was ordering a triple shot in her latte. There was nothing in her past that connected her to a biker.
