Scarcely Gone
ShortStory 2,302 words
We'd only lived in Arizona four years—it was our retirement place. But I'd died there, and she'd dumped my ashes out in the desert without fanfare, without any poem or prayer, unless you considered, “Jesus, Marty, don't leave me. Why'd you leave me, you old bastard" to be an elegy.
Quasar links out; the story lives on Strange Horizons, where the author gets the click.