We’re Walking Here

I’m trying to accept myself as I am right now. I feel like an extra in The Walking Dead.


Other than when Brooksy wants me to do a puppet show over FaceTime, there is no “push past” in me. At least not my normal push-past. It takes every ounce of whatever steam is left in my sputtering engine to bust out Pierre the Puppet and call forth my Pierre voice whose French accent is nowhere to be found. The other night Pierre and Brooksy bantered for an hour and a half and afterward, I felt like I’d run a marathon.


Friends have been sending lots of stuff for me to read. Ali sent the following to me last night. It’s that blindsiding feeling I have throughout each day…the sense that I am being told over and over again—for the first time—that Joey died. Before Joey, I had no idea about this cruel repetitiveness. This piece by Donna Ashworth says it horribly beautifully. I’m sharing it because now that I am part of this club, I know that my fellow members might appreciate others’ compassion when they too appear to be zombie-like, even as they try and power through a puppet show.


This can’t be “fixed.” Please, just love us zombies. We’re still walking.



You lose them over and over,
sometimes in the same day.
When the loss, momentarily forgotten,
creeps up,
and attacks you from behind.

Fresh waves of grief as the realisation hits home,
they are gone.

You don’t just lose someone once,
you lose them every time you open your eyes to a new dawn,
and as you awaken,
so does your memory,
so does the jolting bolt of lightning that rips into your heart,
they are gone.

Losing someone is a journey,
not a one-off.
There is no end to the loss,
there is only a learned skill on how to stay afloat,
when it washes over.
Be kind to those who are sailing this stormy sea,
they have a journey ahead of them,
and a daily shock to the system each time they realise,
they are gone,

You don’t just lose someone once,
you lose them every day,
for a lifetime.

Donna Ashworth