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Brother In Arms

I feel closest to you during the hard moments. The tough silences. The times of broken spirits. I feel a camaraderie when we are washed over with grief together. Whether or not the core of the tragedy is ours, our shared proximity to it still means our own little world gets rocked or shattered or sent spinning into the unknown.

We see hard things every day. We see them and face them and, in the best cases, fix them. Sometimes we get to rejoice together, and I cherish those instances. I hold so tightly to some of them that I could practically taste them, even now.

And yet, it’s the always the other outcome that slaps us together like sad, defeated glue. That old adage, misery loves company, it seems true enough. Fumbling through death and disaster will surely take it out of a person, but I have testimony of my own that it might also tie two people together. And the more heartache we face, the more knots there are in our ropes.

Part of me can almost look forward to it. Life will always have catastrophic beats. For whatever reason, we seem to be able to tackle them a little bit better together. What a gift, I suppose. A brother in arms. A trust where there’s never been one before.

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