It’s complicated. It’s been months since she and sat and talked so today is special. We love each other. And I fear we talk around things to keep it that way. Not the everyday things. Little wounds. Who you have to be to survive terrible things. We talk about the everyday things--burnout, her kid, insurance, and where to get good Pad Thai while the big gaping thing looms just on the periphery: mass graves and white phosphorous. We love each other. And I know she’s afraid. So many of us are.
