zombie breath

When I got the message, I burst into tears. I could hear my voice wailing, choking through a wave of sorrow.

Not this. Not now. Not her.

I didn’t have time to sit and mourn. I had to go to work. I had to be of service. I had to pull myself together. And I kept thinking, I feel like a zombie breathing. I was numb. Brainless. Yet I could feel each breath laboring as I strained not to burst into tears.

What’s worse, I saw the people that I knew loved her come up to me and ask me how I was, and I pretended I was fine and that I had nothing else worth mentioning. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t be the one to tell them she was gone.

All that afternoon I could see her working beside me from precious memory — laughing and carefree and still with me on the inside.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s