What we remember
The 911 call came, we responded. We reached the patient and got them stable. The helicopter landed and then took the patient away.
Simple stories with a nice clean arc. Memory clears the ugliness and trims the thorns of trauma. What it felt like to fall, the pain of the bone break, the struggle to stay alive — somehow we only remember the outlines.
The Greeks and Trojans fought to the death, in vicious nasty battles, and we remember those wars in smooth white marble.
I look back at the plague years in New York, the bad years, lived experience of too many ambulances in the night, the loss too many people I never knew. The films and memorials portray it as so simple and grand, in idealized pure lines. The pain barely shows through.