Hiroshima

Hiroshima. A word that stirs up conflicting emotions in me, mostly sadness and guilt. Growing up, when I saw a wheelchair painted on the road near a lowered sidewalk corner, I would be reminded of the shadows of people imprinted in the asphalt.
I can understand the shame of the generations of Germans born after Hitler. They bore the shame and guilt associated with him. And so it is with me and my uneasy relationship with this word, this past and the pain that was inflicted long ago yesterday today. It lives as a reminder of what happens without love.