Today on talk radio, a politician from the city where the bombs went off told the story of a woman who had her legs nearly torn off by shrapnel. After she had been rushed to an emergency station, she was comforted by a twenty-something, a war veteran, most likely one who had come home to an angry country after fighting what he once told himself was "the good fight". He was able to finally comfort this hysterical, panicking woman by showing her the shrapnel wounds on his own mangled legs.
Just two people who will never fully recover.
I wonder when I will get used to the growing pains and small tragedies that occur while our history writes itself.
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