D - ???
It's nearly eight o'clock in the evening, I am in the elevator at home. A Whatsapp by a colleague, who is not supposed to know yet, tells me that the news is spreading. A series of messages follows, good for the heart, signs of appreciation sincere and unsolicited.
Eventually these are the things that really matter.
I remember the standing ovation made at my last convention by three hundred Algerian colleagues when I told them I was leaving, I remember all of them standing still in front of the screen on which I was projecting the image of my wife on our wedding day, the real reason for my departure.
I remember, a lifetime ago, one Sunday afternoon of Christmas shopping interrupted to help a team of colleagues, a team of friends, in need for an expiring deadline.
After all it's true, all that 's left of you when you're gone is the memory you left ...
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