![]() ![]() His neck had been broken, leaving him with only a slight amount of movement in his right arm, barely enough to operate the electric wheelchair which the Veterans Administration provided and which is now sitting unused and uncharged in his bedroom. His jeep had hit a mine and rolled over with him trapped beneath. “Christ hae mercy,” she had said when she was told that her son, Sean Jr., would be returning from Vietnam a quadriplegic. It is Mary’s strongest oath, one that she has used only three times before. These are customary gestures when she is concerned, what gamblers might call her to tell. Then, with well-practiced ease, she slips her hands under her graying brown hair where it covers her ears and fluffs it out. Mary Flanagan pushes her glasses back on her nose. Excerpt from Widow’s Walk, by Kenneth Weene ![]()
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