Elgar knew the family would soon enter his bare, but warm office. The weeping from the visitation room dwindling down always meant they were almost done. Four hundred and seventy three. That was how many children Elgar brought back to life, just to hear the sobs of their parents when they inevitably passed away again. He finished the paperwork for the family and stared at nothing in particular. Lost in the thought of all the children over the years and how much it cost the families for an extra hour of life. This was his sixtieth year in this business and he was tired of burying babies while he lived in excess.

    "Thank you, sir," said the man in his doorway--the father of the three year old boy he'd resurrected. Three years old, here long enough for his parents to know him. The woman standing next to the man--the mother--could only give a half-hearted bow, unable to talk in her grief.

    "Of course, of course. Please sit. Here are our options for burial," Elgar said and slid a sheet of paper towards them detailing coffin options and pricing.

    "I-Is there anything, cheaper?" the man flipped the sheet of paper over looking for more options, only to find it blank.

    "Well, there is an option to donate the body to the state, he will be laid to rest eventually," Elgar said quietly. The couple looked at each other and embraced, crying. After a moment, the man nodded.

    "Can we choose the plot? We lost his sister last year and want them to be together," the man said. Elgar knew the answer was no, but his heart couldn't take it. He took a deep breath and sighed.

    "Follow me," he said. He stood up with great effort--recent resurrection hadn't been kind to his old body--and led the couple back into the visitation room. He checked his breast pocket to make sure it was right where he always kept it. The letter. He handed it to the man, "Please open this." As the man opened the letter, Elgar laid his hands on the boy again and smiled. He felt the life drain out of him. He felt the world fade. He felt at peace.

    Elgar collapsed on the ground, pale and lifeless. The young boy coughed, sat up, and cried. The mother grabbed her son tight and cried with him. The man looked at the letter, which read:

What a precious thing a life is. I hope your child lives as full and long of a life as I've lived.