At My Father’s Funeral My Sister Told Me to Stay Away From the Cabin I Inherited, So I Drove There Anyway

At a rest stop somewhere between Albany and the base, I sat with the engine idling and stared at the ceiling of my car. I had survived firefights in Afghanistan. I had made decisions in environments where a wrong move had consequences no one recovered from. I had eaten sand and slept in two-hour increments and carried people I loved toward helicopters continue reading …