At My Purple Heart Ceremony, My Stepmother Swung a Folding Chair Into My Arm—Then My Father Looked Down Instead of Protecting Me
It does not rank events according to which one should have been worse.
The attack happened at home.
Not geographically.
Emotionally.
A military auditorium on an American base had been safer in my mind than any place Gertrude existed.
She had broken that distinction.
I started therapy with Dr.
Elena Ruiz, a civilian trauma psychologist who worked frequently with service members.