The last time I saw your face, my kind friend. I remember.
When we are blessed with youth and vinegar. We don’t know. We have few mentors and people who shall love us. Today, I walk slower and I think before I speak. I pay attention to my loved one. Gone and with me. I make time for the children and the grandchildren.
When I was eighteen years old in 1977. Dear Grandmother and grandfather Reyes took me the bus station for the Army. I can still see them with sad faces as the Grey Hound bus took me to New Jersey today. I volunteered for every active conflict and I did not fear death. I called my Grandfather in the Winter of 1991 when I was in the war-zone. My sister answered, not knowing it was me. She told me. Mr. Reyes died last week. I dropped the phone…
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