My Dad was a soldier in the D-Day landing, more particularly, Utah Beach.
There have been times in my life when I would rather just die than to continue.
I would struggle, weigh the oncoming struggle, and in my judgment, decide none of it was possible.
So much physical and mental and economical and social cost, no way I could do it, even if justified.
And then I would compare my struggle with my Dad's. The thirteen days he slugged forward on that beach with his rifle above his head. Then he got shot 9 times by a machine gun.
Could I hold a rifle over my head for days on end?
Could I slug and slosh on and not drown?
I doubt any cause such as killing Hitler might ever inspire me to superhuman activity, such as it did those few who landed and survived in his platoon.
The only inspiration is him.
I fight on. To my last breath.