I spent a little time on the phone this morning with a photojournalist* who has spent a lot of time in Iraq. He's beginning work on a project dealing with surviving families: we don't quite fit into what he's trying to do right now, but it was an interesting conversation on several levels. First, he clearly understands his topic very well. He's talked to a lot of the families, wherever they are in the journey. That can be really hard for anyone with an ounce of sensitivity, and he obviously has that. Some of his photos are of men who were killed a few days later--he knows grief firsthand. Second, it reminded me to ponder my own reaction to contacts from the press these days. At first, we really did not want to talk to reporters at all: the potential for exploitation was just too great. And then, when we finally had something to say about honoring the fallen and taking care of the survivors, no one was very interested in listening. I think that is beginning to shift, but I just don't want to go overboard on our end. There is a bit of temptation to say "Look at me, look at me! Somehow, we'll have to make sure maintain a balance.

Finally, I loved telling the story all over again (love sounds a bit strange for such a painful kind of retelling, but it does have a sort of beauty about it). I had forgotten how much of a relief it can be to do this. Luckily, this guy is good at keeping people from monopolizing his life and telephone time so we were not on the phone for hours.

On a totally different topic, I recently replaced the chain on the teardrop shaped pendant my friends had given me in Thomas's memory. I broke the very fine chain that it came with a few months ago so I had not been able to wear the pendant, and missed it. I am happy to have it back.

*I forgot to ask him if I could use his name in this blog, and even though published authors are not shy people, it seems courteous to do this. If he contacts me, I'll put his name in.