I pulled into the driveway, dropped my head to the steering wheel and wept a hurricane of tears.
I wept for Senator John McCain. I have stood in the room in Hanoi where he was imprisoned, saw the photos of the POWs of Vietnam. I’ve heard so many first-hand accounts from the men and women who served in Vietnam I could write one a day and never run out. There are terrible stories of young men crying out for their mothers as they drew their last breaths. Stories of civilians injured and dying. Collateral damage, they call it. It’s a term, instead of a story. A statistic of war, instead of someone’s daughter or son.