I say nothing, allowing the trickle of my tears to fall, staining my cheeks as I picture my own family tossed around in this war, facing horrors from all sides. Maybe Dad is right, that I can’t blame Mom for wanting to avoid talking about all the hurt and loss. Maybe Bà Hai is right, that the scars run too deep, that they’re too agonizing to face. Perhaps there isn’t a right and a wrong and a good and a bad and a truth and a lie … There are too many perspectives, too many personal losses and sacrifices and griefs to try to quantify what happened in Việt Nam into something simple, something
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