accept loss forever

He saw his first , or maybe second, it only takes a second, Cambodian woman with a prosthetic leg. The majority minus arms and legs or fingers and hands are men and kids. Kids love to play with buried things. Dirt play.

Today it was her turn. 

It was her gait. How she dragged the drab olive green right leg behind her.

It reminded her of a lost conversation where one whispers more than they know. More than they can reveal. Truth be said.

She was maybe 40. Give or take a moment.

It was a moment years ago when she stepped on the invisible mine. What you don't see is fascinating. Her story evolved into family taking care of her after they heard the explosion. After it rained dirt, rice, weeds, tears, light, broken clouds, false dreams, expectations, celebrations and musical thunder notes.

A doctor. Blood. Pain. Loss. Tears and memory comforted her. She absolved her faint quick belief in Buddha beyond all the mysteries.

After she went to Siem Reap she got her new artificial leg at Cambodian Handicap.

If her husband and family rejected her then she ended up in the city, like today, sitting on a sidewalk offering handmade bags and bracelets or selling her sorrow and loss and smile and understanding among friends and polite distant tourists afraid to look her in the eye. Later, she dragged it through night comforted by the fact it was a long way from her heart.

If your legs get heavy walk with your heart.