It is the curse of humans that when we fail, it hurts most those least able to bear the brunt. Not the invulnerable, but the child or the animal or that other person, heart open and hands splayed. That he might fail her, that an old friend might fail me, that a hero might be something less than heroic makes me grieve. Not just for my own selfish desire to remain a pollyanna, but because I know that at least this time, I can take it, and that there are some in every situation who can’t.