I Came Home to Find My Belongings Thrown in the Yard—My Dad Called It “Trash”

closet, the one that held my old unit patches and the dog tags of friends who never made it home. The lid was cracked. A couple of tags had spilled onto the lawn. Seeing them lying there in the open, exposed to the elements and curious neighbors, made something in my ribs tighten.

I bent down and brushed my fingers over the metal, the chill biting into continue reading …