He Said My Mother Dying Wasn’t His Problem

I wore when I pinned major.

The one I wore at my father’s burial in section H of Kentucky Veterans Cemetery West.

He had let somebody put her face on it.

I zipped the bag closed.

“Thirty-eight calls by tomorrow won’t be enough,” I said.

His face lost color.

Not because he understood what he’d done to me.

Because for the first time, he understood something continue reading …