Last night something happened to me that's a regular occurrence. I'm prone to this thing called pulmonary aspiration. If I'm not careful, whatever I'm drinking will go down my trachea and into my lungs rather than down my esophagus and into my tummy.

It never happens when I'm eating. Usually, I'm talking or laughing and I'm not paying attention to what I'm doing. I'll gulp a drink and scare everyone within ten feet of me as I turn purple, cough and wheeze.

Hubs was asleep and I was alone when it happened. I was watching a television show and burst out laughing while I was drinking water. I inhaled at the same time and the water went "down the wrong pipe." I couldn't catch my breath. I seriously thought I was going to die. That severity of aspiration only happened one other time. I thought I was going to die then too.

By the grace of God, I was able to get one little gasp of air and calm down enough to take another. I violently coughed over and over. It seemed like forever. I felt sick all night. My airways still feel drenched like someone had held me underwater. I felt gurgling in my chest. I'm hoping that I don't develop pneumonia from it. I'm not feeling so hot this morning.

While I unsuccessfully tried to sleep, I thought about someone else who actually died because he was unable to breathe. Except he was at the hands of police. Those who were sworn to "serve and protect." Instead of humane treatment, he spent eight minutes and 46 seconds of dying hell pleading to get a breath, urinating himself, crying for his mother and begging to stand up.

He was helpless.

Unlike mine, his experience was orchestrated by an ancient venom, one felt millions of times by persons of color throughout the ages.

A police officer was killing him with a knee bearing down on his neck and he was obviously getting off on it. Two other officers were holding down his arms and legs. And another uniformed fool attempted crowd control as bystanders begged them to stop hurting him. The officer with a knee on his neck dug in harder and when the crowd was about to advance on him to save Mr Floyd he whipped out his mace.

The poor man didn't stand a chance.

My situation last night happened because I wasn't watching what I was doing. I knew better and nearly paid the ultimate price for it. I've been "gagging" all my life.  

I'll never understand what it's like to be hated for the color of my skin. I'm white. I was born on the right side of the hate spectrum. It sickens me to think that there is such a thing.

But for a few brief moments, I understood the basic need to breathe. What we must have to survive.

Air.

That man was deprived of that basic need.

Because he was viewed as an abomination.

Because he wasn't white.

The prison sentence facing the ring leader of the boys in blue, the one with the knee to Mr Floyd's neck is about twelve years in prison for third-degree murder and second-degree manslaughter. Twelve years for torturing and killing a fellow citizen.

Over a forged twenty dollar bill.

Did the store owner ever stop to think that Mr Floyd might have been a victim of forgery too? That, someone, gave him change and the twenty was a forgery? Probably not. Like any ignorant racist, a black guy gave him a bad bill, so he must be a bad person.

Right now people are pissed. Rioting, demanding justice. But in a few weeks or less, another big story will take its place and Mr Floyd will be a fading headline.

I've often heard it said, "we're better than this."

Yes, we have it in us to stop our crap and treat others with the respect they deserve.

Will we do it? Do we care enough to see it through?

Some of us do. But many don't.

And I have little faith that after thousands of years of slavery that things will change. If Dr Martin Luther King and his leadership and vision couldn't turn the tide, the human race may be beyond help.

Unless we put our collective foot down as a species and say no more fanning the flames, this is our reality.

Michelle Close Mills (c)