The Broken Soldier

I tend to be terse when I’m feeling this way.  Why break tradition?  My wife, step, and I were having breakfast at our Sunday usual.  We were talking, I was hurting from sitting up and a bit of walking.  Between mouthfuls of omelet, my wife told me she cried after looking at a picture of me from our last UP camping trip.  The pic is only three years old, but, by my wife’s lights, I look (and probably act) like a completely different person.  Strange the affect pain and lack of support can have on one’s identity.