At my last duty location we had a trophy case. Pretty typical as far as Army standards, captured weapons, model equipment, unit awards. One thing in particular made me a avoid the hallway it was in like the fucking plague. An 8x10 photo of a little blonde haired boy, wearing a suit bought for the occasion never to be worn again, hugging the flagged draped casket of his father, the pain on his face as visible as these words. I knew the guy in the way you know lots of Soldiers, shared friends, shared duty locations, shared hardships. I was saddened by his loss but considered it part of the job (that happens to other guys). But the first time I saw that picture it cut through me like a knife. I’ve been out of that unit for years and haven’t laid eyes on that picture in even longer but I can recall every detail as if I was holding it in my hand. Fuck these allergies and fuck the PAO that took that photo.