And I see this old man named Murray, I think, or maybe Morty—anyway, he’s draped over this headstone. And I mean, this guy is in agony. He’s not just crying, he’s kvetching at the top of his lungs. He’s pounding his fists on the grass, he’s looking up at the heavens, screaming, "Why?! Why did you have to go?! Why did the Lord take you from this earth so soon?!"

It was heartbreaking, really. Just a terrible thing to witness.

So I walk over there—I didn't want to intrude, but I felt I had to be a comfort to him in this time, you know?—and I put a hand on the guy's shoulder. I say to him, I say, "Sir, forgive me. But I couldn't help but notice your grief. It’s overwhelming. By God, I haven't seen sorrow like this in my entire life."

The guy pauses for a second, catching his breath, just trembling.

And I ask him, "Who is buried here? Was this your father? Your beloved brother? A great Rabbi, perhaps?"

And the old guy, he looks up at me—eyes red, tears streaming down his face, looking like he’s been through a war—and he shakes his head. He says, "No... no! I never even met the man!!"

Now I’m confused. I say, "You never met him? Then why on earth are you crying like this? Why are you screaming at his grave?"

And he looks back at the tombstone, with this look of absolute, pure despair, and he wails:

"Because he was my wife's first husband!!"

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5821013&forum_id=2#49583020)