There is always a first...

I cried tonight.
I sat at Dairy Queen, eating my blizzard, explaining to my brother what Thailand was like for me.
And I just cried.
For the first time, I put it into words.
I relived moments.
I saw those memories vividly.
I saw those faces, some smiling, some hollow. 
I couldn't stop.
When you are wrapped up in a story, it doesn't matter what's going on around you.
It was the first time I cried because of what I saw.
My brother knew that I needed to cry.
He listened to my story. My feelings. My words.
He understood why I was crying.
My heart is utterly broken for the brokenness in the women and children I saw.
It lies in shambles.
I have a lot of praying and processing to do still.
But it has begun.