I spent the bulk of the week sitting with my father. My father who had brain surgery the week before. My father who has dementia. My father who, it quickly became clear, didn’t know who I was.
I remember, in that circle, one vet, whose injuries required that he lay face down on a gurney, stretching his arms up behind him as high as they would go, his hands clasped to friends on either side who lowered their arms enough to keep the chain linked.