We knew the man as a force, a smiling face in the face of big ice, cold nights, high winds, and frightening leads. But we also remember him sharing ice cream, bending his glasses back into something halfway functional, and failing to control his wild hair.
Afghanistan eats bombs. It eats rockets, too, and bullets, mortars, IEDs, RPGs, souls. Its hunger is immediate and insatiable, and while thrashing for more, it uncaringly kills men, women, children, foreigner, and local. Who taught this monster to crave flesh and gunpowder? We weren't the first--a history of conquest and cruelty map across the mountains and deserts--but we feed it, and in doing so only strengthen this beast.
My grandmother died in the sunlight on Wednesday. She had come home from the antiseptic, alien world of the hospital to her own bed. Here, with the birds chatting and flitting outside, she shed the vestiges of pain and breathed slowly. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. The sun traced the 92 years of her... Continue Reading →