In a few days, it will be the four month anniversary of the murder of Afghan poet Nadia Anjoman, who died after suffering a severe beating at the hands of her husband.
Nadia will never again be humiliated. She will never again feel the sting of a slap, she will not be spat on, she will not be kicked, pushed, beaten, dragged across the floor. her hair will not be pulled, her nose and mouth will not bleed, her ribs will not be bruised. her body will no longer heal itself during the merciful days without violence, only to be battered again without warning, without provocation, without justification.
In these things, I suppose, there is some small comfort.
Nadia, I have thought about you on many days, but I will especially think about you this week.