I am amazed at how fresh the pain can still feel, unexpectedly, with no warning. Suddenly the day is relived all over again with the same intensity as the first time. Just when you think you are over it, that you are out of the woods, springtime has begun, there comes a fresh new frost you never planned for. The wound that was healed can, by one wrong move or action, be ripped open once again. How could it still be that painful? Of course, it's impossible to heal some injuries. A scar will always remain. Paper cuts leave no scars, war wounds always will. Does the man who lost his arm, even thirty years later, ever really heal?
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