I Destroyed My Best Friend’s Grave Because of What His Widow Told Me

headstone. His name. His dates. A motorcycle engraved at the bottom. Rachel had paid for that herself.

I stood there looking at it. My best friend was six feet below me. And I was about to dig him up.

“I’m sorry, brother,” I said. “But you’d understand.”

Rachel held the flashlight. I started digging.

It took two hours. The ground was hard. Clay and rock continue reading …