Flemish Grama

what to do with the grand mother just a picture to me in an heavy frame I never met her she died before I was born emptying my life I look at her and try to find myself buried in morocco she hardly spoke french her husband gone a year earlier they wait for the next grave to be filled and no luck as it will never happen as disperse my mother the atheist made sure the missionary from my father side visiting africa never to wear the cross just memories in a box