It's early morning on our first day back in Morocco and I hear O practicing his trumpet.
It's making me cry to hear the tunes but not because he sounds like a dying elephant, nor because he's performing the national anthem on the Astros field.
This time, it's tears of some sort of grief that I can't explain. Of a life left behind. Three very tough years but also filled with memories and good friends. A significant part of our family life and strife. And I feel the need to cry and begin to let go...
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