Sunday morning’s air was heavier with its coolness, amplifying the whump-wump-wump of massive rotors. There wasn’t a plausible reason for two, fully-armed Apache helicopters to fly over my house at 7:30AM.
I hadn’t witnessed anything like it before.
As if automatic, something compelled me to stand and salute as they approached and passed.
At 7:30AM exactly two years ago, I was advised my brother was gone and the coroner was still there, just…
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