Monday, September 11, 2006

The Heart Of One Good Dog

The Heart Of One Good Dog
Pen & Ink; Loree Harrell; 2001

I find myself hoping today - the eighth day - that we might find a dog. Because they searched and died, too. And I immediately questioned my priorities, my compassion. How could I even wish for a dog with thousands of humans missing? Perhaps it is because so very little of me can believe anymore in finding even one of thousands alive, and all of me veers from touching the thought even of what the details of a person living this long under the devastation would have to be. But a dog. A beautiful dog that we could rescue and heal and cry over and every one of us hold as our own. Who could not be forced, by our need, to speak too soon or to live a life in public when all he wanted was to go home to hug his wife and crawl between clean sheets. One extraordinary dog - pure courage and love and pride - in front of the cameras, brushed and panting and simply ecstatic that somehow in his survival he pleased us.

Just even a dog right now.
One last sign to know we are done waiting.
One reward for all of our work and tears and love and hope.


Loree Harrell; September 19th, 2001

The above writing is an excerpt from Waking With The Sirens, my touchpoint with sanity during September and October, 2001. Always remember. Never forget.


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