do you carry every sadness with you?

Hem asks me this question, as I sit and yawn at my screen.
Quite possibly.

Tonight at work a man had a seizure, over in the cookbooks section of the store. Mary came running towards me, a worried look on her face, and forced calm cloaking her every move. Call 911. Call mall security. Get Val. I run around the corner, why am I always running around corners to find somebody unconscious and needing help? Why does panic always choke my long neck with her white, slender hand?

No matter how many times I go through this, it's still the same. I grudgingly admit to Val that I know CPR, before I go out front to wait for the ambulance. All the while I mutter under my breath, damn, damn, damn. Keep breathing, you idiot. Keep freaking breathing. Those glassy, unresponsive eyes scare the lightheartedness right out of me, the banter I was sharing with pals over in the cafe moments ago is lost utterly. I'm still not ready. I'm still not. Will there be a time? Will there be a time that I can react calmly when someone collapses in front of me, puke near their head and moans issuing from behind clenched teeth? Will I ever pull off the act of hero?

I don't know. For all the talk of eternal now, and blustering I may do about things unseen, it comes down to this; you really shouldn't trust me farther than you can throw me. And I'm a big girl these days.