Not that it matters, but there's another headstone in the cemetery today. I counted them this morning. There were ninety-seven. There were only ninety-six two days ago. I must have missed the burial. I know what you're going to say. "People die all the time. It's a fact of life; it's no big deal." You're right about it being a fact of life, but the last part of the statement is wrong. It is a big deal, at least to me it is.

I know exactly which headstone wasn't there before. I have a good memory of the cemetery; I pass by it often enough. It's a small marker made of some gray stone. The stone is jagged, and poorly cut. There are letters etched into it, and then filled in with black paint. The first time it rains, I'm sure the paint will wash away and the carvings will be barely visible. The etching contains no name, nor any form of identification. All it says is: "In loving memory". In my opinion, that's an oxymoron. How is anyone supposed to lovingly remember a person with no name and no face? How can anyone remember someone they don't know?

You want to know something else about that grave? Actually, that's just it: it's not a grave. Like I said, I was there two days ago, and then just this morning. Except for the headstone, the ground's no different. There's no body buried underneath there. It's just a marker for a poor soul with no name, no identity, and now no body. Whoever that marker is for will soon be forgotten by everyone, if they haven't been already. It's a tragic story, don't you think? How awful for a man, or perhaps a woman, to die and be forgotten so soon.

I know a little about that person, though. Let me tell you. His name was Cameron Jay Walker; he was a soldier. His family moved into town a few months ago, just before the army shipped him overseas to fight. He left his wife and four month old daughter behind. I'm sure you've heard this story before. A brave young soldiers goes off to defend his country from the enemy, and his wife and kid stay behind, holding onto the hope that he'll be back before they know it. But then he doesn't return. His wife is a widow at twenty-four, and his kid will never know the great man that her father was. A sad story, with a even worse ending. His body is lost, somewhere overseas, and his family can't afford a proper memorial. The only thing the hero has been given is a marker that doesn't even have his name.

Now you know. I'm going back now. I think I'll sit awhile at his grave, and I'll remember him, while the world forgets.

There was a funeral when I went back. I hate funerals. Crying people dressed in black surrounding a preserved corpse. Don't they know that there'll be nothing but bones eventually? Bugs have a way of getting into even the tightest of coffins. I don't know why, but it bothers me that people would pay so much for the mortal remains of a man. Wouldn't money be better spent preserving the memories? Maybe I just think that because of that barely marked headstone belonging to Cameron Walker.

I just thought I'd come back here until the funeral is over. An hour, maybe? I won't bother you, if you don't want me to. I'll sit in the corner and be quiet while you do your thing. I looked at your schedule. You've got a palm reading to do in a few minutes, and some séance thing tonight. I won't get in your way, if that's what you're worried about. I'm more mature than you give me credit for.

How did your séance go? Did you get in touch with that ghost Mrs. Warden wanted to meet. Let me guess... Old lover? Not that one, then. How about grandmother? Ah. Grandmother it is. Typical. I don't know what it is with people thinking that they're being haunted by old relatives they've hardly ever met. You don't mind, though, I know. As long as you get paid. So, no real ghost at your séance I'm guessing. I noticed you turned the thermostat down. It's fifty-nine degrees in here, now. It was seventy-three when I left to see if the funeral was over. You're pretty good, for a fake psychic. Most of them aren't smart enough to rig up an electric fan to a remote to make the candles blow out. Clever move there.

I just thought you should know that Cameron's wife was there at the cemetery. The kid was with her. She's cute. I stayed out of their way; they didn't see me, and I didn't bother them. The wife carved her husband's name into the stone. Cameron Jay Walker. At least when people look at that stone from now on, they'll know who it belonged to.

You look tired. Go get some rest. You have another palm reading at eight O'clock tomorrow, remember? It's the mayor's wife. You'd best make a good impression if you want to stay in business. Need my help? Oh. Alright, then. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. You can tell me how the reading went. Good night.

The reading went well, I'm guessing. You look more pleased than normal. Did the mayor's wife leave a big tip? Oh, I'm glad to hear that. Looks like you'll have a busy schedule doing readings for the woman's book club. Her daughter's birthday party, too? Since when do you entertain? Never mind. Forget I brought it up.

Cameron's wife must have gone back recently. There were flowers and a framed picture in front of the grave marker. He was wearing his uniform in the photo; he looked proud to be serving his country, his town, and his family. It's too bad that all but his family seem to have forgotten him. I wish I could talk to him again. He seemed like a good guy, but I only met him the once.

Would you do me a favor? I'd like to lay some flowers myself on Cameron's grave, but you know I can't do that. Could you do it for me? Really? Thank you. I think it will be good for Cameron to know he's missed, if he's still out there. Do you think he's watching over them? His family, I mean. Yeah. I hope so too.

Roses would be great. White, if you can find them. They're so pure looking, don't you think so? I'll meet you at the front of the cemetery at eight then. I'll show you where his grave is. I want to go with you to take the flowers. It'll mean a lot to me. Thanks again.

Cameron's grave is in the northeast corner, over by that big oak tree. Follow me. I'll show you. See? That's where his wife etched his name. I think it looks pretty good. Sure, the letters are uneven and crooked, but it looks like she put her heart in those letters. I wonder how long it took her. Those etchings are pretty deep. They won't fade anytime soon. That's good. Maybe people will read his name in the future. If only they knew he was a hero.

It's fine, really. Three roses is fine. I just wanted to place something there, to let him know someone cares, if he can see this, I mean. Do you think he can? Can you get in touch with him? You're the psychic or medium or whatever you call yourself. Of course I know most of what you do is fake, but can't you at least try? Fine. I hope he's sees this. I think it would make him happy again. It's been a long time since I've really felt happy.

Wait. Look over there. Do you see that? It looks like... Never mind. It can't be.

It is! It's Cameron! You see him, right? Good. I'm not alone then. Where's he going? No, wait. Why is he leaving? Cameron! Cameron, wait!

What... Oh. No, I see it. He's smiling, all right. He does look happy, but I still want to talk to him. I want to tell him his family loves him, and that he's not forgotten yet. Do you-- do you think he already knows? Is that why he's smiling? Oh. I suppose that makes sense. Why is he leaving, then? I don't understand it.

I see. He's leaving because his work here is done then. Is that how it is with all ghosts? So, once they feel that they can move on, they do so? So, Cameron moved on because he knew he hadn't been forgotten, right? I think I understand it now.

Well then, goodbye Cameron Jay Walker. May you have a safe journey to whatever land lies ahead of you. Maybe we'll meet again someday.

Can we leave now. I feel kind of sad. I don't like looking at his grave now. He moved on, so I should let him. There's no need to worry about him any more. He's moved on to what I hope is a better place.

I came to say goodbye. I'm leaving today. I know it's early, and that you have an appointment soon, so I hope I'm not keeping you. Anyway, I went back last night again. I didn't want to, but something drew me back there. I looked at Cameron's grave, but I still didn't feel like I'd done what I needed to do. So, I counted the headstones. There are ninety-eight. It's what's to be expected, since there was that funeral yesterday. I still wasn't sure why I had this feeling like I'd missed something. I read all the inscriptions. I read every name, every date, and every message. It's kind of funny how many repeated messages there on on headstones. There are some really good quotes on some of them too. You should read them sometime. I quite liked them.

Anyway, I saw that there were flowers on another one of the graves. Not Cameron's, someone else's. They were white roses. I never told you, but they're my favorite flower. That's why I asked you to put them on Cameron's grave yesterday. But you knew that already, didn't you? Of course you did. That's why you put them on mine.

Thank you, for everything, but I realize I've been holding on far too long. It's time I moved on and let you be. Thank you for listening to me all these years, and thank you for showing me how to get on with life, or rather what lies after. I saw your calendar. It's March fifteenth today. Do you know what? It's a special day. I died ten years ago, on this very day. It's a good day to move on. So thank you, and goodbye.

When I'm gone though, do me one last favor. Don't forget me, alright? Oh, and do what you can to preserve the memory of Cameron Jay Walker.