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I have hit a wall of missing him. I am ready for him to be home now. I wake up sometimes in the middle of the night and peer in his room expecting to see the rise and fall of his sleeping tide, only to find the bed neatly made and a room too tidy to be his. I miss the constant cadence of his voice trailing off in a persistent reverie. I miss his spinning form, wearing bare the grassy yard with constant footfalls. I even miss his little-big guy attitude.
Two more weeks.

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