Author:  Mitch Albom
Viewed: 84 - Published at: 8 years ago

You'll come to my grave? To tell me your problems?"
My problems?
"Yes.'
And you'll give me answers?
"I'll give you what I can. Don't I always?"
I picture his grave, on the hill, overlooking the pond, some little nine foot piece of earth where they will place him, cover him with dirt, put a stone on top. Maybe in a few weeks? Maybe in a few days? I see myself sitting there alone, arms across my knees, staring into space.
It won't be the same, I say, not being able to hear you talk.
"Ah, talk . . . "
He closes his eyes and smiles.
"Tell you what. After I'm dead, you talk. And I'll listen.

( Mitch Albom )
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