"He's gone. I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT HIM! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?"
Without ending, this has drummed in my head all the time for 69 days.
"He's gone. I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT HIM! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?"
I've screamed them. I've whispered them. I've spoken them out loud to almost everyone I know. More than that, however, I have heard them.
"He's gone. I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT HIM! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?"
They are like the bass that gives a song it's power. Underscoring every waking moment and many of my sleeping moment I walk, sit, stand, drive, eat, shower, cry, and laugh to the rhythm of:
"He's gone. I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT HIM! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?"
Tuesday, while reading Hatchet with my class I realized the answer.
I'm going to survive.
I still breathe to the tune of the truth.
"He's gone. I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT HIM! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?"
"I'm going to survive."
The list of huge gaping holes Honey left behind continues to grow and gape.
"I'm going to survive."
