In my history, I’ve stumbled through Dachau, proudly marched at Vimy, tiptoed in Jericho, and buckled at Tuol Sleng. At each, many people had taken their final breath, seen their last snapshot; dying at the hands of ruthless oppressors, in glorious battle, for the protection of their homes and families, or shackled to the floor. Death is a private thing. It is a time where someone is at their most vulnerable and is perhaps...
