Tom, my husband of only four years, a second marriage, passed away on December 11, 2010, lung cancer claiming his life. This piece of prose is written in his memory, fifteen years after his death.
Stone Cold by Barbara Heagy
The first snow of winter
Has left the ground frozen and white.
Your memory sits by the back door,
Stone cold,
In a small garden where a tiny purple crocus
Comes up every spring without fail.
You wanted to be cremated,
Your ashes spread in Little Cove,
The pure waters of Georgian Bay
Where you had spent many a beloved summer
In God’s country, as you called it.
And so, in a summer after you passed
I took those snowy ashes to your favourite shore.
We made small paper origami boats,
Filled them with a single white candle
And a sprinkle of you
And set them free into the bay.
I waded out toward the waves,
The rest of those powdered ashes
Were poured into the cold waters
Where they sank to the bottom of the rocky bed.
One of those stones became your headstone
With a simple one word epitaph
TOM
And now your memory sits by the back door,
Stone Cold,
In a small garden where a tiny purple crocus
Comes up every spring without fail,
Brought back to life by spring suns and warm tears.
