He Said My Mother Dying Wasn’t His Problem

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The Night Got Longer

I didn’t sleep.

People imagine Army buildings go quiet late at night. They don’t, not really. There’s always a copier somewhere making that dying-whale noise, boots in a hallway, a door slamming harder than it needs to. The fluorescent lights stay ugly around the clock.

Around midnight, my battalion commander, Colonel Mays, found continue reading …