Fuel lyrics, anyone?
The song "Shimmer" always makes me reassess my life--what I've fought for, what I continue to fight for, and for what I will choose to fight in the future. Obviously, I would give anything for my children--my life, my breath, even my soul (God, if you're a fan of my blog, sorry, Dude). But what else in the world would I give for without hesitation?
Not damn much.
Which begs the question, what does that say about me?
Since I've been old enough to drive, I've always tried to help stray dogs. Get them away from the road so they don't get hit, feed them whatever I have, find them homes--whatever I can do. Stray dogs rip at my heartstrings. Granted, most of the ones I've stopped for run from me and I don't end up doing anything for them, but at least I know I tried. The day that I took my Dad to Duke for his second opinion on the cancer--December 2--we saw a stray dog on the way home off of Highway 58. It was starving, bony and pitiful. Only two hours before I had sat in a room with four doctors who had looked me in the eye with not one shred of emotion and told me there was absolutely nothing they could do for my Dad, while he sat next to me looking defeated, then got in the car alone with him and silently driven back. You would have thought the desire to help when I saw the dog--to control SOMETHING--would have spurred me into stopping immediately. But I didn't. I didn't even care. What does that say about me?
Maybe I've used up all of my compassion. Maybe I never had enough in the first place. All I know is that there seems to be less worth fighting for every single day.