Cradling an injured arm, the man clasps one of his son's hands tightly, rocking slightly on the bench seat. Any attempts to care for him are rebuffed. He asks again: "What about my girls?" I look up, over the boy, to my partner sitting at the head. We exchange a horrified glance that says we're both at an utter loss as to how to answer him. I can't lie, but how do I tell him the extent of the tragedy that's struck his family?
GUEST COMMENTARY >>> By TRACEY A. LOSCAR, MICP The Policy of Truth O ne summer afternoon, as Before walking away I ask him, “What provider. Once viola
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