Hey, I’m Chris—from Queens, NY, where I grew up with the constant hum of the city, but these days I’m out on Long Island, in a quieter spot where the days feel a little slower and more real. About 10 years ago, I got a call from family about my grandma in Charlotte, North Carolina—the place where she was buried. Turns out, the cemetery had been sold, and they built houses right on top of it. No warning. Her spot was just gone. I’d go there to visit, sit and talk to her, remember her big hugs and how she’d make those amazing Sunday pies. Now? Nothing but new driveways and mailboxes. I even flew down once, heart racing, hoping to see something familiar. All I got was this empty feeling, like I’d lost her all over again. It hit hard, left me staring at the wall for days, wondering how that could even happen.

That kind of pain doesn’t just go away—it changes you. One overcast afternoon in a park near home, with the leaves rustling like unanswered questions, I thought, If her place is gone for good, I can’t let it happen to anyone else. So I grabbed some basic supplies and started going to local cemeteries on my own. I’d kneel in the grass, wipe away the dirt and moss, and watch names and dates pop back into view. It was simple, but every time, it felt good—like I was fighting back a little. If I don’t do it, who will? These headstones aren’t just old rocks; they’re the last spot to feel connected, to say what you didn’t get to before.

That’s how The Headstone Guy came alive—from that raw, 10-year-old scar, turning my pain into something I could do for others. I use eco-friendly stuff, nothing that damages the stone—”Do No Harm” is my rule. From a quick clean to a full fix-up, it’s all about taking the load off so you can just remember the good parts. Your family’s spot matters—it’s where the love lives on. Let’s keep it clear and close. Give me a call or message—I’m here.

Take care, Chris