I am maudlin. It sounds so horrible to be maudlin. But it is true. It is horrible to be maudlin. No one respects you when you are maudlin. You are viewed as weak.
I don't listen to the news; alright, I try not to listen to the news. I definitely don't watch TV news. If I do I often find myself bawling my eyes out at other peoples misfortunes. I work hard at insulating myself so I am not a blubber machine.
Recently NPR covered the anniversary of the London bombings. I remember that day so clearly. I took the girls to breakfast at a little cafe in Boulder. They happened to have a TV going. I saw the reports coming in about the terrorist attacks. Suddenly I'm hit with a flashback to 9/11. I was away from home for that one, too. My girls looked at me while I silently bawled my eyes out at this cafe. I just couldn't believe that this happened.
Anyway, the reporter talked about the kinds of things that were left at the sight of the bus bombing. The one that reduced me to a blubbering idiot was the teddy bear or was it a picture with a note saying, "I miss you, Mommy." My heart ached for that child; for the father; for the mother; for the grandparents. For everyone who aches because they no longer have that individual in their life.
Maudlin? Empathy? Call it what you will. I just know that I've spent a life time in tears. Tears for myself and tears for others. If only my tears could be of some benefit to something...
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Kindred spirits, my dear. I just finished cataloging a book on the Vietnam war. A soldier tells another that if he doesn't have an enemy to kill, he'll take out an elephant, water buffalo, anything. That just made me weepy. An animal goes about its business, and suddenly finds half of flank blown away. I can't take it, it's just too sad. All this suffering, human and otherwise.
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