Taking photos at a grave felt wrong, but she asked—so their son would have something one day. She laid a blanket with their wedding photo. The baby had slept the whole trip, but the second his carrier touched the ground near his dad’s grave, he burst out laughing. A deep, joyful laugh.
Tears streamed down her face. “He’s never laughed like that before,” she whispered. I said maybe babies sense things we’ve forgotten. She clung to him, telling the stone how she’d talked to his dad every night, how the baby would always kick in reply.
Strange things followed—waking at the same time every night, reacting only to his dad’s photo, their wedding song playing randomly. Even I couldn’t explain what I saw. A chaplain said, “Love lingers to help us heal.”
One night, the baby screamed at nothing. That same night, she dreamed her husband said, “You’re strong now.” After that, it all stopped. Silence returned.
She slowly rebuilt her life. Months later, she found a hidden letter from her husband: “Tell our baby hi.” She framed it.
When their son was four, he asked, “Where’s my daddy?” She pointed to the grave and said, “He’s always with you.”
The boy smiled. “I know. He talks to me sometimes.”
Maybe grief opens a door. Maybe love never really leaves.