The death of Adrian Monk came as a shock to everyone who knew him.

From San Francisco to Boston; Midland,Texas to the nation's capital, well-wishers sent flowers and condolences and watched as his widowed bride of less than 5 years, Natalie Davenport Monk, stood stoically, holding the hands of their two-year-old twins, Lee and Abby, as Adrian's simple, and symmetrical, walnut casket rode past them on a black, horse-drawn caisson in a San Francisco cemetery. The body was flanked by current and former San Francisco police officers who counted it an honor to escort San Francisco's and perhaps the world's greatest detective to his final resting place - including his best friend of thirty years, Leland Stottlemeyer and their friend, Randy Disher.

When they reached their destination, the men silently lifted the box and carried it to the stand that straddled the open hole next to his first wife, Trudy Ellison Monk, where the body would later be interred. It was his wish that he be buried between his wives, and so Natalie had purchased two plots.

Leave it to Adrian to have her foot the bill.

But on that cold and rainy December morning, exactly twenty-two years to the day that Monk lost his Trudy, it didn't matter. Natalie would have given up every penny and earthly possession she had just to have him back, to hold him, to be with him. It was so unfair and so unexpected, and it came in a season where everyone was celebrating. It was all so surreal to hear the world singing Joy to the World and to feel in one's heart that joy was a distant dream one would never experience again.

It all began on October 9th. Monk's 60th Birthday – a very momentous day in the life of the Monk family.