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Published on May 18, 2013
A warm gray drizzle was falling in Washington DC the first time I saw the Vietnam Memorial. It hit me like two tons of bricks. The sheer... mass of it. A faucet opened up inside and I cried like a baby. A park volunteer- the ones that help survivors find one name among the fifty thousand on the wall- came over to me. "Do you have someone here?" he asked gently. "No," I admitted, choking, embarrassed, bewildered. He nodded, a knowing smile. As I walked away in the rain, I turned back towards him. "I guess I do now, don't I?"