Monuments and Memory: Working at Arlington National Cemetery
“It was an alternate world, where the dead came everyday, and we treated it as normal.”
Thank you for your service
yes, I’m slowly realizing there’s something more important than me happening here, but I don’t quite know how to react to it
It should’ve been me.
why am I heredeath-is-an-unconscious-abyss-that-may-render-life-inconsequential-and-why-is-no-one-else-freaking-out
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I wish I could tell my dad that I worked to recreate the newsroom. That people still think newspaper stories—and stories about newspapers—are worth telling.
As a black man in the field of social work, my dad was, as a white female coworker of his once put it, “like a fly in buttermilk.”