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It’s been six years since I started to talk about the effect of my mother’s suicide, sharing my story for the first time, by invitation of my now friend Angela Samata at a private audience with the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. I sat terrified with a collective of others bereaved as part of a Read.
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The GR34 winds ahead As pappilon dance In sunshine winds. Past each turn Small harbors peep A hundred islands Nods and bonjours. Fertile land remembers fragility of war Bunkers pock mark Hidden in overgrown scrub. Sail boats catch the breeze While the land and sea Mixing to become Breton. Read.