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