For many months afterward, and at many times since, I was swallowed up in the deep fog of grief—what I think of as the void—an emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even to breathe.
One of the trombonists has got an impressive sense of rhythm, and could be an excellent musician—except that he has breathing difficulties, and he doesn't really have enough breath for the trombone.