His wife had just been buried, but he refused to leave her grave. While friends begged him to come home, he sat over the fresh dirt, fanning furiously as daylight faded around them. They thought sorrow had overwhelmed him until one simple question exposed a deathbed promise and a motive nobody standing beside that grave could possibly have imag
The funeral was over, and the mourners were ready to head home. But the newly widowed husband remained seated beside the burial plot, waving a handheld fan across the soil with remarkable determination. “Come on, buddy,” a neighbor urged gently. “It’s getting late. She’s at peace now.” He didn’t budge. His arm simply moved faster. Finally, a puzzled friend stepped forward and asked why drying the earth seemed so important to him.
The husband sighed. “I’ve accepted that she’s gone.” Everyone nodded, offering him a moment of sympathy. Then he explained the promise his wife had demanded before her death: he must not marry again until her grave was completely dry. The sympathetic faces went blank. Looking down, he redoubled his fanning. “I’m just trying to help things along!” His friend shook his head. “Buddy, you’re not grieving,” he said. “You’re racing the clock!”
