I have to conquer one one more thing in this move...

Joe's letters. They stay in the draw next to my bed. I do not want to touch these because I'm going to read them all, line by line and try and figure out how I could have saved him. The steps of suicide are very soft. He reached out to me. I still remember the alley we walked down when he told me "I've put my gun to my head several times but I can't pull the trigger." I didn't know he had a serious gun. Marines are licensed to carry side arms. I didn't know this. If I could take ONE second back and tell him that things are going to be okay I'd die for it. I have memories of the 21 gun salute. Ready. Aim. Fire. Ready. Aim. Fire. Ready. Aim. Fire. Then the folding of the American flag into the triangle and handed it to Irma. That shit doesn't replace your son.