He must drive past the place on the way out of town to the main highway going north. It is not a
large facility compared to those in the city. It has an iron fence ten or twelve feet high and a
swinging, ornate gate that a caretaker opens and closes each day. There is an old section with
marked stones, some faded and weather-worn beyond deciphering; she is not in this section. She
is in the new section with marbled markers close to the ground; it is easier for the grounds crew
to maintain when the markers are like this.

He considers that the stone is probably in place with the name and dates accurately chiseled. It
is something that should be verified and followed up on. He stops at the light and could turn in
but does not. The car in front of him has a bumper sticker on its rusted hatchback. It says
Coexist. He thinks about coexistence but not in the way of the bumper sticker.
It does not bother him to go past this place with these numerous stones arranged in neat rows,
stones like hers with names and dates. Of course he misses her some; she is his mother.

He has not returned to her since the day he and his brother had her lowered. It would be prudent
to return and verify that matters are completed: the ground filled in, the name and dates, and
everything done and in its proper and permanent place.
The light changes, and he follows the car with the sticker. He moves forward with the traffic. He
should turn, yes, he should turn, but doubts he ever will.