When I die, burn me to ashes and bury me in the shallow grounds of the earth.
Bury me not in a casket with fine clothing, rather bury me naked in the bare ground. Either way is fine with me.
Above my resting place, put not my name and a date of departure on a plaque or tombstone, instead plant roses above my remains and every spring when the roses blossom let it be a remembrance of the last day of my life, something like a rose that grew from concrete.
The thorns on my stems will protect me from those who wish to remove from you the only loving memories you have of me and the April rain will be my tears from above, watering the grounds that nurture the roses.
Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.