How he hated this Sunday each year, hated the march of veterans, but was drawn in some morbid fascination annually. Each year, he observed the file of...crippled soldiers, long since passed their usefulness to a society doing it's best to forget for the other three hundred and sixty four days, except in the glorified films of heroic deeds with John Wayne, or another popular actor, leading a squad of crack troopers into an impossible confrontation, with overwhelming odds being beaten at the loss. . I want to make sure you’re okay with it.”She looked me straight in the eye.“Yes, I’m perfectly okay with it!”Her giggle assured me that we were fine. Alarm bells still rang in my head, but I ignored them.“Okay then, let’s do this properly. Stand up.”I stood up right after she did and scooped her up in my arms. She giggled and held on tight while I carried her up the stairs to my bedroom, to my bed. The significance wasn’t lost on Ash.“This is… yours and Mom's bed. I always fantasized that. More

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