In a few minutes, I shall click the "send" command to dispatch this missive, then pack my laptop into its carrying case, put it and Sadie - the People Dog - into the already-packed van, and head for South Dakota.

It will be my first, extended solo venture since John's death; I plan to attend a wedding in the beautiful Black Hills.

Besides Sadie, I'll be accompanied by twinges of guilt about the gas I'll consume. I justify the personal expense of $4 gas by camping along the way (the van's rear seat makes into a comfy bed), thus saving money on lodging. Yet I wonder if I'm being a responsible citizen of the world, barreling along the Interstate in a gas-guzzler.

People used to ask me what kind of mileage we got with this big, heavy-duty van, especially with its extra weight from the hydraulic wheelchair lift. I never bothered to figure it out. What choice did we have? The van was a gift, a blessing, and I always felt blessed as I drove it.

My first stop, as I leave town, will be the cemetery and John's grave. I want to remind myself that after years of stroke-induced silence, he finally was able to whisper a simple benediction whenever I drove away without him: "Go with God."

John and I enjoyed touring cemeteries when we traveled. We would wander through the graves, read headstones, imagine the stories behind those few terse words, do the math and marvel at either longevity or lack of it.

This morning I woke early, knowing finally what to inscribe on our grave marker. John died eight months ago today, and I've been putting off that last funereal decision. It will be simple enough, a flat headstone, but details are important: Full middle name or initial? Spell out the dates or abbreviate them, newspaper-style? Border or no border? Granite or bronze? What typeface?

Typeface! There's a stickler. John loved well-crafted typefaces and appreciated when they were used appropriately. He would cringe when advertisers insisted on what he called "stud-horse fonts" (big, bold and ugly) in their ads.

No stud-horse fonts on our headstone! No, siree. So there I was in my pajamas this morning, with a thousand other things to do before leaving town, designing a grave marker. Because our cremated remains will share a single grave, we will also share the headstone. That meant typing my own name into the design, leaving an empty space for the final date. Now there's an exercise for contemplating your own mortality!

Yet it all seems so academic, so unrelated to reality. Neither the grave nor its marker makes John's death real to me.

As I drive along the highway, I will regularly scan my rearview mirror. For so many years that mirror reflected John, sitting in his wheelchair. Now I will have an uninterrupted view of the road behind me. That empty view - it's what makes his absence real.