Before I left in August, I privately sprinkled my parent's ashes in the flower garden next to our little house. Several days later my host mother asked what the Grey stuff was on the black volcanic soil. I told her, never realizing the impact of my actions. To think that I thought it important to leave a remnant of them and ergo me. It resulted in my host family saying they were going to build a small stone marker over the spot for remembrance and to protect the soil from pigs. Some may wonder why it is hard to leave this place. It is just to painful to stay.
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