Can you help me find my wife?

The gentleman walked into the office twice in as many months with the same question, "Can you help me find my wife?"

Turning from my desk, I smiled and replied, "Sure." For I remembered the last time, when I pointed from the office window with the direction that she is right behind that big tree; right over there. I work in a cemetery.

This time, after confirming her resting place on the lot map, I marked the way on a small street map. But instead of pointing the way, lot map in hand, I offered to walk over to the grave. Did I want a ride in his car? No, I'd walk, as I could use the exercise, but he should drive, as he used a cane.

Five minutes later we were both standing beside the grave of his lovely wife. She was not herself at the end. And even though his children tell him she is better off, he still misses her, his darling.

And how will he find her again? She rests behind the chapel, near the back gate, and right next to a little boy; the perfect place for a woman who was the perfect mother.