By Anna Von Reitz
I’ll just call him “Daniel”.
We met forty years ago. I was a college girl candy-striper at the VA Hospital. He was already a Captain in the Army with a chest-full of medals, recovering from his latest “misadventure” --- the Vietnam War.
Daniel was small and lightly built, five foot six inches tall and 145 pounds. His face that first afternoon was lean and tanned, with a stubborn chin, thin lips, a narrow, beaky nose and two of the largest, most observant grey eyes I have ever seen before or since. He was recovering from multiple reconstructive surgeries for a shattered shin bone and injuries including severe burns to both hands, but he was chipper and alert and had his bed propped up like a recliner.
“Is it you?” he asked abruptly.
