Circular thoughts.

Human emotions are complicated things. 

I've been hearing the tales coming out of Japan for days, and while it horrifies me, and makes me shudder to my very core to think of those who are left behind and what they must surely be experiencing right now - it doesn't really impact my world.  Does that make sense?  I'm not trying to be callous or cruel, but their plight, the challenges that face them now, right this minute, I can't do anything for them.  I can't change it or make it better.  The money I've sent will have an impact, minuscule as it may be, but when it comes down to it, I can't do a thing to help the suffering. 

Or I won't, I guess is more honest.  I could quit my job and hop the next flight over and get right there in the thick of it, untrained and without supplies or an idea of what to do.  I could start a blanket drive or food drive or try to raise money to send one of those boxes that provide enough supplies to support a group of 10 for several days/weeks.  But I won't.  I'll talk about how awful it all is and how sad it is, but beyond my Red Cross donations and typed words, that's all I'll do. 

Kim is going to have to have her longtime friend and companion, Casey, put to sleep some time in the next day or two.  This dog means the world to my friend, and watching her today, as she realized it's time to let her friend go - it broke my heart.  It's so sad.  Casey has had a long, happy, good life - Kimmie's been the best doggy mom in the world, but the arthritis is too bad and poor Casey can't hardly get herself up onto her feet anymore.  It's time.  It's awful.

This tiny tragedy - one that isn't really a tragedy, but just the natural way of things - this impacts my world and brings me closer to tears than all the suffering and loss of life happening on the other side of the planet.  I'm seeing this hurt and pain first-hand; it's written all over my friend's face.  The devastation in Japan?  I can turn off the television, I can turn off the radio.  It's so far away and it's so much - I can't wrap my brain around it or feel what I probably should feel.  Shouldn't we all be huddled on the ground in sad little piles, weeping for our fellow man, unable to move for the shock of it all?  But I'm not, and I'll bet you're not either - for us, life goes on, and we carry on with our day-to-day, and we do what we're able to help those in front of us or next to us, because they're here, they're real, they're now. 

It makes me feel like an asshole, to be honest with you, but I can't help it.  My empathy for Kim is off the charts; one of these days, Jimi and I are going to have to make that terrible decision for Finn - I can put myself in Kim's shoes and somewhat imagine what she's feeling right now.  Imagining my home shaken apart by an earthquake and then washed away by a giant wave and then being in danger of radiation exposure?  Having my entire family missing and unaccounted for?  No.  I can't imagine that at all.  Can you?  Who could?  Oh God, and the woman I talked about yesterday?  The one who's a teacher in Japan whose parents were on the Early Show yesterday morning?  So full of relief because their daughter had been found safe?  Yeah, they found the wrong woman; the teacher is still missing.  What that mother feels today?  Can't fathom.

I'm sad for my friend.  I just want to hug her and kiss her and tell her it will all be okay, but I can't fix her broken heart and I can't fix poor Casey.  I'm sad for Japan and everyone who is a part of that tragedy, too, but I can't do anything to fix that, either.  So much sadness. 

And then there's the guilt.  Guilt because I'm sad for others, but I don't have a lot of sad of my own.  What makes me so special?  Why do I get it so good?  Or is it just not my turn yet?  That starts the fear...

Human emotions are complicated things.