There is a cane by her front door and, beside it, a walker. Setsuko Thurlow is almost 83 years old and a recent back injury has bitten into her mobility. Her gait is unsteady, but her memory and her fighter’s spirit — she loves a good debate — are undiminished by age and the nagging aches.
Just beyond the front door is a study. It is filled with books and a computer that Ms. Thurlow openly resents.
“I am not good with the computer,” she growls. “I have to write everything down, longhand, and then send it by fax machine.”
Ms. Thurlow has been writing a lot lately, as she always does this time of year, staying up into the wee hours, alone, to think and write and remember, to weep for the dead. She was 13 on Aug. 6, 1945, a cracker-jack smart Grade 8 student at an all-girls school…
View original post 815 more words