Nothing much happened after you died. I was weary, tired of waiting for your ghost. I withdrew from society, and spent many stretched and wretched hours alone.
The security guards employed by the council to patrol the cemetary eventually became used to me. My profound sadness grew into something that I took for granted; like my left arm, for example.
There was no sign, no harbinger, but one afternoon I was standing there, watching, and the small white flowers growing on your grave shivered as your soul rose into the air.