It’s like hanging your clothes on the line just as a storm shows itself on the horizon.
Or like running out of gas 2 miles outside of town.
Like planting potatoes, spending hours digging up the dirt, tending to the crop, and finding that it did not yield a single spud.
It’s like trying to breathe deep but gasping on the air. I wonder if I, too, am having a heart attack.
It’s like missing you.
Death is not easier to understand as an adult than as a child. I still find myself grappling with the idea that once dead, you are gone forever. I still ask myself why does it seem like good and caring and loving people are the ones that die. I still expect to run into him at the store.
Maybe that’s why kids are sometimes found poking around dead animals; dissecting and investigating the carcass—to understand. And adults yell for them to get away, do not touch dead animals you find. I don’t know if it’s a fear of disease and bacteria or fear of death, or a mixture of both.
The pain of surviving is sometimes so acute. I can feel it welling up in my eyes and tightening in my chest.
also my job title no longer has the word assistant in it.
say hello to the new online instructional support and documentation specialist.