Misplaced Responsibility

"You're not responsible for her death," I gripped my cup a little tighter. How desperately I wanted to chug the rest of my coffee, but the lump in my throat wouldn't even allow me to breathe.

I didn't respond.

"Do you believe that?"

At the moment, I didn't know who she was talking about. The truth was, there were potentially three children. I lost three children in the matter of a year and half. The tears in her eyes spoke to the one she was speaking of, I stared out the window.

It was so sunny. How painfully, desperately I wanted to get out of that room.

The only thing I could muster up was, "sometimes."

"Why did you stop living your life?" she inquired.
"I don't know who to be anymore. I can't go back to who I use to be, I must change from this. She died so that I can change."
"Perhaps, but that is a lot of misplaced responsibility. Who do you want to be?"

"Right now? Right now I want to be that eighteen year old girl who jumped on a plane to Africa. I use to dance in the Indian Ocean even though I was terrified of deep waters. We would jump on top of bars and cause a ruckus out of fun, and pretend we were the bartenders. I miss being the girl who brings green tea to her friend after they tell me they had a bad day. On Mondays I would drink champagne for the hell of it, because life should be a continuous celebration. I was never afraid of losing anyone. Ever. Mostly because I was the girl who ran away and people continuously lost me. And now I am terrified all the time." 

"Let me ask you this, where do you want to be?"
"Dancing in the middle of the Indian Ocean."
"Well you better go grab a bottle of champagne."