By the time I dropped my assault pack on the terminal floor and hugged her, it felt like my arms were wrapped around a memory.
Of all my days at war, I never dreaded rolling out the gate more than I did that morning. It was my first time in a humvee in two weeks, and I was once again in the driver’s seat. Last time I touched the steering wheel, my drive ended on top of a pressure plate IED.
I spent years blaming myself for not seeing the signs. What kind of son doesn’t notice that his own mother wants to end her life? I poured over my memories like a football coach studying reels of his defeats.