There
he sat looking --
expectantly? -- at each passer by. I know ... I saw him look up at me as I went by. He was injured I believe. I'm not sure as he appeared to be sitting there unaware that his life was now measured in minutes -- seconds? -- not days or years as one would presume.
As always, when faced with this situation, I wanted to stop, but I was on the way to the train station, my mornings timed such that any deviation -- unusually slow driver, construction vehicle or tractor -- would make me late thereby forcing me to catch a later train.
Would that have been a problem though? Not really. I could be late. No one would say anything.
I could have stopped.
So why didn't I?
As this fellow looked up at me in his final moments, why didn't I stop the car, get out and offer whatever assistance I could afford? I've done it before, though, perhaps, not as often as I should.
It's not a terribly busy road, but even though I knew he would likely never see his family again, I drove on continuing to debate in my head the desire ... logic ... compassion ... of stopping. Thoughts of what might happen flashed through my brain:
"What if it was just a minor 'scrape'? Would my stopping exacerbate the situation? Could I make it worse?"
"Their songs are beautiful."
"Would others, as I have, make an effort to avoid him?"
"If I did stop, he would freak out. He would. It's in his nature. In his efforts to get away from me -- his 'rescuer' -- he might actually ... die."
"I've seen so many more this year than any other recent year. I wonder why that is?"
"He will be squished. His final seconds of life not spent in blissful flight but in terror as the tire of a passing car bears down upon him."
"He'll gather his wits and take flight to the nearest tree before anything can happen to him."
"Assume I DID offer him assistance. Once I cradled his broken body in my hands ... what then? Do I call in sick to work to bring him ... where?"
"Some slack-jawed-cell-phone-yacking-idiot could hit me. *I* could die in my efforts to save him."I hate feeling this way. Knowing that I could do something ... should do something ... and don't. Am I so callous I can close my eyes to a fellow creature in need?
Or am I just practical? My love for my own family –
what about his? – my understanding of the "circle of life" and a desire to not be injured myself pushing aside my inner voice telling me to stop.
Certainly I acknowledge there are bigger problems in the world than whether I stopped to help an injured bird.
As I write this,
new reports are coming out of London that there may have been a second terror attack -- or at least an attempt at a second terror attack on the transportation system in London.
Getting all this insanity to stop before my daughter grows up into a world none of us recognize has to start somewhere ... maybe it should have started with me this morning.
