…moved to the county’s low-cost section, so the family plot could be resold for $18,000.”
The cemetery director, Mr. Abbott, laid the request on his desk. My son, Daniel, had signed it as “family representative.” The cemetery had refused to process it without my signature, because I owned the plot. That’s why they’d sent me a bill: a “processing fee” for a request I’d never made.
“We’d never move someone without the plot owner’s consent,” Mr. Abbott said. “But the headstone had already been taken by the time we noticed. Your son brought a contractor and a truck.”
Mr. Abbott helped me find the stone dealer who’d bought it. The dealer was horrified to learn it had been sold without the owner’s permission. He hadn’t resold it yet. My husband’s name was still engraved on the front.
The police recovered the headstone two days later. The dealer refused to press charges against me for the “sale” and agreed to cooperate against my son.
Daniel and his wife, Kendra, were on their way to the airport for the Maldives when the police called them. They didn’t get on the plane.
Daniel was charged with theft and fraud. Kendra was charged as an accomplice. The $9,500 was returned to the dealer. The trip was never refunded.
My granddaughter, Hannah, the one who’d sent me the photo, came with me to the cemetery when the stone was reinstalled. She held my hand while the workers lifted it back into place.
“Grandma,” she said, “I didn’t know if I should tell you. I thought Dad would be mad.”
“You did exactly the right thing,” I told her. “Your grandfather would be so proud of you.” I had a small line added to the bottom of his headstone afterward: “Watched over by his granddaughter, Hannah.”
