The dying of the light

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I began grieving for Jack almost ten years ago, when the first tell-tell signs of his disease first showed themselves. We lived then on the edge of the jungle, a twenty minute walk to the beach and a five minute stroll to the river where, in the dry season, I waded into waters which did in fact occasionally house crocodiles.  This was in the country of Panama. If you’ve read Clueless Gringos in Paradise, you know how we got there.

Relocation therapy is what the counselors call it.

Jack alway...