Day 42
No time to write except to note that they still aren't home. I hate the smell that lingers after a gun has been fired over and over. I hate the images that I've been left with even more. My hands, shoulders, and back are a mess. I know a lot less about guns than I thought I did. I've had to learn on the fly. At least I haven't shot anything off ... at least nothing that belonged to me or mine.