her masters’ voice: the wounded walk amongst us. They are forgotten or misunderstood, and sometimes rarely healed. My eyes have been opened to their ways since they became my own to share; in the shoes of a loved one. Eccentricities of the wounded are strangely at once fearfully compelling and reminiscent of childlike nightmares that refuse to sleep. Don’t wonder at their words or ways, these are often born of fear and erroneous shame; it all comes from a place once never perceived to be possibly real. A place where nightmares steal sleep and haunt the living daylight. As a child, they were my heroes, those father’s fathers and mother’s mothers with stories to tell and songs to sing. Yet I was so naive to the fact that they possessed such strength and bravery; each in their own way, each for their own reasons. They were all part of the walking wounded. And now, my Dad is too. He is also my biggest hero; the courage, faith, perseverance and bravery he demonstrates daily is far greater than I’d ever imagined possible. Such lessons there are to be learned from the wounded who walk amongst us.