The Heavy Stone My grief was a heavy stone, rough and sharp. Grasping to pick it up My hands were cut. Afraid to let go, I carried it. While I had my grief you were not lost. The rain of my tears smoothed it. The wind of my rage weathered it, making it round and small. The cuts in my hands have healed. Now in my palm it rests, sometimes almost beautiful, Sometimes almost you. Averil Stedeford

Thank you for setting up this memorial to Manny. We hope that you find it a positive experience developing the site and that it becomes a place of comfort and inspiration for you to visit whenever you want or need to.

I am I and you are you, whatever we were to each other that we still are. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? Life means all that it ever meant, it is the same as it ever was.