Cambria at Thirteen by Jan Richman

I have always felt secretly selfish about my own compassion for others. My instant tearing at someone else's loss, or sadness, or agonizing over something to do with family; anyone's family. It's not that I feel for them, but that I feel. It is a personal fear that sets in: It could be me; it could be my daughter who is lost forever, my little boy who has disappeared, my heart that is broken. People call me a 'bleeding heart.' I feel that I am fooling the world.

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