I had a pretty nice weekend and started this post ready to give you the play by play of all we did.
My son stands in front of me as I write, watching his Ken Burn's Baseball documentary for the thousandth time while swinging his bat at an invisible pitch - smacking it out of the park.
And it's hitting me like a wave right now that some mother's precious son or daughter is not standing in front of them today. Because they are dead...casualities of war. Maybe it was last month, last year, in Korea, Vietman, the Pacific, the Battle of the Bulge or friendly fire in the desert. The breathless moment when their world came to an end can be buried but memory is a harsh wind capable of unearthing whatever comes in its path.
I'm humbled by their grief. My stories can wait for another day.