I got an email from my mom a couple of days ago. She’s on a 2 week long vacation in Morocco. She talked for a long time about visiting Morocco, and she’s finally doing it. But her going to Morocco has brought up a lot of emotional stuff surrounding my dad.
In 1954 my grandfather (dad’s dad), was sent to Morocco (then a French colony) for work. My grandmother, uncle and my dad followed. My grandfather was a Captain in the Air Force, as well as the School Officer liaison for Nouasseur and would later open a school for the Arab workers children. They lived in Cacablanca, and unlike the other military families they lived in suburban housing. In 1956 my grandfather was shot and killed by French guards in his car coming home from a night out with my grandmother.
My mom wrote about visiting these very ruins and how amazing they were. When I read that she was there my heart sank. I have been looking at these childhood photos of my dad’s since she left and the above image stuck with me. This trip is more than a vacation for her. It’s seeing a part of my dad’s life that we weren’t a part of. But it’s good. It’s like a full circle type of thing, you know?
My dad’s on my mind a lot lately, with my mom in Morocco and Max’s first birthday coming up and him not having the chance to meet and know his grandson. This is just another one of many waves of sadness I’ll feel. It’ll go soon, and it’ll come back again, and it hurts a little less and gets a little easier each time.