The words on the pole begin to fade. The area around the site; bare. The remnant of something. Unknown to passers by. A cross. 3 flags. A memorial, one thinks. Each drive along that route, I cry out to the Father. I ask for mercy in this process. I beg for the pain to be softened. I long to know why. Yet I don't remain there. There is still purpose and work left to do here. The tension of how to move on and remember, pull. A desire to hide from all that is moving on; strong. Effort made each day to surrender my ... View Post