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Welcome to the memorial page for
George 'Stuart' Hudson
December 8, 1930 ~ March 9, 2017 (age 86) 86 Years Old Light a Candle
Leave a Condolence
A candle was lit by Melodie Granter (nee Collins) (niece) and family.
on March 15, 2017 7:11 AM
A candle was lit by Dean and Sue Jodouin
on March 15, 2017 6:50 AM
Message from Sheri Loyer (Harvey)
March 14, 2017 2:52 PM
To say an eternity has passed is an understatement. Remembered are the days at the house on Terrace Bay Road in Callander, mostly kids birthday parties, but great social events with our parents nonetheless. We are the children of Cecil & Jeanne Harvey, who welcome your Dad, along with your mom with loving arms. May they all rest in peace.
A candle was lit by The Harvey Family
on March 14, 2017 2:46 PM
A candle was lit by Evelyn Goodwin and Jason Goodwin (Sister and Nephew)
on March 14, 2017 11:12 AM
Message from Ruby Hudson Collins
March 13, 2017 5:22 PM
With a heavy heart I say goodbye and send my love to your Ontario family. I'll miss our long talks and the forever " I love you!" But as much as I will miss you I know you are not suffering anymore! You are with all your Angel loved ones. Say hello to them for me! I'll love you for ever and always "Cur", until we meet again dear heart!
A candle was lit by Ruby Hudson Collins (sister) and brother-in-law Don
on March 13, 2017 5:12 PM
A candle was lit by Lisa Hudson-Garfield
on March 13, 2017 2:22 PM
A candle was lit by Joey, in case they don't let my condolence past security
on March 12, 2017 11:52 PM
Message from Joey
March 12, 2017 11:49 PM
Oh, grampa. It seems silly to make one of these, but I'm feeling compelled for some reason. I haven't read the obit yet, I'm sure it's fairly standard as those things tend to be.
I'll never forget the trips we would make to see you as kids. I can never get rolling tobacco to smell quite as sweet and musky as it did sitting out on your kitchen table in North Bay when I was barely old enough to see over top of the thing. The great four-legged buddies of yours I got to meet always made me happy.
Watching Scoobie-Doo in "grampa's chair" with Josh somewhere around is something that I don't think will ever leave me, nor will the collection of toy farm animals and other fun stuff I'd stash in drawers and behind dressers, only to keep rediscovering them when I'd visit, a little bit older each time. Might only have been months in between, but I defnitely remember marking the passage of time as a little kid based on how surprised I was to still find them in their spots.
Your old guy watch. The old guy freckles on your arms sticking out from your old guy shirts tucked into old guy pants. Your big square old guy glasses. I could recognize you from a mile away. Your big old guy Buick, which you used to convince me magic was real as a kid with the assistance of a keyless trunk remote and a secret password, but also to have a good laugh at me in every driveway and parking lot I lived next to until I was old enough to figure out what was really going on.
I can't make it to your funeral on account of being busy with school. I'm in university, and I'm gonna get my degree, and I'm gonna do what I've always wanted to with my life. I'd rather my last memories of you be under the warm Ontario sun this past summer, my favorite time of year to see you as a kid, rather than a super serious church ceremony with super serious music and a super serious preacher talking about super serious biblical stuff. The man I knew was never that serious. Not with me and Josh, anyways.
Oh, and I lied about wanting to join the Air Force last year. I don't know why. You backed me into a corner and I had to think fast. Maybe it made you smile. Maybe you knew I was bullshitting.
Adios, Grampa. Say hi to Nana, and the Frenchmen you've been talking smack about all these years. Hopefully this message is received by all those reading it as the most honest and true-to-life representation of who you were to me and Josh. If not, well, it's not meant for them. It's meant for you.
Lots of love,
Joey
I'll never forget the trips we would make to see you as kids. I can never get rolling tobacco to smell quite as sweet and musky as it did sitting out on your kitchen table in North Bay when I was barely old enough to see over top of the thing. The great four-legged buddies of yours I got to meet always made me happy.
Watching Scoobie-Doo in "grampa's chair" with Josh somewhere around is something that I don't think will ever leave me, nor will the collection of toy farm animals and other fun stuff I'd stash in drawers and behind dressers, only to keep rediscovering them when I'd visit, a little bit older each time. Might only have been months in between, but I defnitely remember marking the passage of time as a little kid based on how surprised I was to still find them in their spots.
Your old guy watch. The old guy freckles on your arms sticking out from your old guy shirts tucked into old guy pants. Your big square old guy glasses. I could recognize you from a mile away. Your big old guy Buick, which you used to convince me magic was real as a kid with the assistance of a keyless trunk remote and a secret password, but also to have a good laugh at me in every driveway and parking lot I lived next to until I was old enough to figure out what was really going on.
I can't make it to your funeral on account of being busy with school. I'm in university, and I'm gonna get my degree, and I'm gonna do what I've always wanted to with my life. I'd rather my last memories of you be under the warm Ontario sun this past summer, my favorite time of year to see you as a kid, rather than a super serious church ceremony with super serious music and a super serious preacher talking about super serious biblical stuff. The man I knew was never that serious. Not with me and Josh, anyways.
Oh, and I lied about wanting to join the Air Force last year. I don't know why. You backed me into a corner and I had to think fast. Maybe it made you smile. Maybe you knew I was bullshitting.
Adios, Grampa. Say hi to Nana, and the Frenchmen you've been talking smack about all these years. Hopefully this message is received by all those reading it as the most honest and true-to-life representation of who you were to me and Josh. If not, well, it's not meant for them. It's meant for you.
Lots of love,
Joey
Message from dianne cudmore
March 12, 2017 7:07 PM
Sorry for your loss.......
A candle was lit by Norma
on March 12, 2017 6:02 PM
A candle was lit by Sam, Dylan & the kids <3
on March 12, 2017 5:38 PM
A candle was lit by Kim & John and the boys
on March 12, 2017 5:25 PM
A candle was lit by Matt collins ( nephew )
on March 11, 2017 4:25 PM
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