The Zombie in Me


by Bob Comeans

Sometimes it rises up, and when it does, it comes at you with claws out, more than willing to rip your soul to ribbons of anger, despair, and frustration. Looking to destroy.  Again.

It comes in many forms. It’s in us. It doesn’t want to leave. It’s our constant unwanted companion. It may be dormant. It may be active.  We all have one, and when your zombie has  taken control, you are, 

The Walking Dead.

You are an easy, fallen prey. 

The zombie in me, it’s your addictions, bad habits, and poor choices. It’s a broken heart, a failed marriage, a blown up life. It’s a pornographic web site, a drink, a smoke, a snort. It’s  lust, out of control anger, or selfishness, and it’s relentless. 

No matter how strong, how sure, how good you think you really are, you don’t have a chance. Alone you are so vulnerable. So predictable. So hopeless. 

There is still a hope in the hopeless. Your zombie killer is out there. Everywhere, in plain sight.  Friends, family, ministers, doctors, neighbors, teachers, coworkers, professionals, amateurs, strangers, and more. Jesus Christ, He’s there too. Working through them, the normal people, the everyday people. 

To help you, to rescue you, to turn your life around, to cover your back, to hold you, to fight your battles, to hold your arms up, to celebrate with you, to speak for you, to come for you, to listen to you, to bring you back, to make you accountable, to feed you, to direct you, to be with you in defeat, to share in your victory, to pray with you, to love you. 

For yourself, for someone, be that zombie killer.

The zombies aren’t  coming, they’re already here.


Too Late To Stop


Texting while Driving

Distracted driving







By Bob Comeans

You were texting. I wasn’t wearing my seat belt.

You were distracted. I was speeding.

You pulled your car out. I didn’t have time to react.

We hit at close to 60 mph,

Head on.

Your dashboard broke your left leg.

My windshield fractured my skull and broke my neck.

You were crying. I was silent.

Your heart beat faster. My heart beat stopped.

You were stabilized and given pain meds.

I was stabilized and medics pumped my heart and breathed for me.

Your ER doctor cast your leg.

My ER doctor called for Life Flight.

You were released and driven home.

I was admitted and flown to a trauma center.

Your family will comfort you. My family will comfort each other.

You survived. I died.

This shouldn’t have happened,

To you.

To me.

Please, before it’s too late,


(This story is a work of fiction based on cold, hard facts)

Big Time Wrestling, My Fears, and Wild Bull Curry

A photo of American wrestler Bull Curry which ...

Wild Bull Curry

By Bob Comeans

They have green skin.

Our first ever color television had just arrived from the  Lazarus department store. It was set up,  plugged in, and as it happened, the first show I ever saw on a color television was Big Time Wrestling.

Two men in a ring, locked in a wrestling hold of some kind, and they were green. My father spent several minutes trying to adjust the color controls, as I sat there, watching in fascination.

I think I was just as fascinated by the wrestlers,  as I was by their Hulk-like skin color.  Green men, did however, add another layer of interest to the mayhem I was witnessing.

I quickly became an avid fan. Saturday morning, watching Big Time Wrestling, was something I didn’t miss. Gordon Solie made the calls ringside as Bobo Brazil, Mark Lewin, The Sheik,  Wild Bull Curry, and many others battled it out on local television.

There were the good guys, Mark Lewin, who I rooted for, and the bad guys, Wild Bull Curry, who I hated with a passion. I would be  screaming, spitting, and biting couch cushions because no matter how many eye gouges, cheap shots, or chairs to the head Wild Bull Curry did to my hero, Mark Lewin, the referee always seemed to be looking the other way.

Mark Lewin was getting the cheap shot beat down of his wrestling career and it was all I could do not to dive into the television set to help him out against this evil monster of a man.

Wild Bull Curry was a six foot, 200 pound ball of maniac glee. He earned his nickname by winning a wrestling match against, you guessed it, a wild bull. He was a promoter’s tough guy dream come true.

He looked the part, and he was the part. Part crazy, intimidating, muscular, and crazy black hair. He had the wildest, bushy eyebrows that just added to the wildest, scariest look in those eyes of his.

I always hated Wild Bull Curry, so he must have been doing his job. He was the best villain I ever despised, and though I hate to admit it,  he scared the heck out of me. He was the kind of guy I never wanted to cross paths with, in any kind of direction.

Years later I was working downtown at the Columbus Dispatch newspaper, up on the fourth floor. Being a big time newspaper you never knew who you might run into on your comings and goings, back and forth to work each day.

And then it happened,

As I entered the elevator one afternoon for the long, slow ride up to four, a man stepped into the elevator behind me. I’d have recognized those wild bushy eyebrows anywhere. I couldn’t breathe, speak, or move. He had me cornered and there was no referee in sight.

Wild Bull Curry.

I don’t know why, but he didn’t throw me down the elevator shaft, bite my ear, or poke me in the throat. But, if he could smell fear, I knew he was smelling me.

They say there are no atheists in a foxhole. I say there are no atheists, who are stuck in an elevator, with Wild Bull Curry.

I somehow managed to survive, and I conquered my fear that day. I had met the enemy and the enemy was me. Wild Bull Curry walked out of that elevator, and out of my life.

The next time, I’m taking the stairs.

He May Just Be My Son

By Bob Comeans

We shared a dream.

This weekend my 19 year old son becomes a public servant. He will be third rider on a county ambulance as he starts his practicals for his Advanced Emergency Medical Technician.

Having just spent months in lectures, taking exams, and practicing techniques on fellow students, he will now step into the real world of emergency medicine. There is nothing like it.

The pager goes off, the tones sound, and the call information is broadcast. The doors are slammed and the lights are on before the dispatcher stops talking. A quick look at the map and the wail of your siren is heard before the tires hit the street.

Your adrenaline hits you as you mentally prepare for what you’re about to experience. Someone needs you, someone trusts you, and someone is about to answer their call.

In less than the next eight minutes you may change someone’s life, or they may change yours. You will see and do things that most people will never see or do. You will very quickly grow, learn, and mature.

Care for yourself son, as much as you care for your patients. They will need you, as much as you need yourself.

It’s good out there, but not all good. Trust yourself, your partner, and your growing instincts. Listen to your gut. Listen to experience.

I shared your dream. I responded to calls for three and a half years on an ambulance service. Not long, but long enough.

When I hear a siren this weekend, I will pause, and offer a quick prayer, for the responders, for their patients, and for that courageous young man who may be looking into your eyes for the first time this weekend, saying, “It’s okay, we’re here to help.”

That young man, he may just be my son.

I AM There For You

Cross & Clouds

As told by my friend Jason Collins

Who’s going to help me put my life back together? I AM

Who’s going to help truth and justice finally prevail in this world? I AM

Who’s smart enough to figure out my problems? I AM Continue reading

He Called Me Jim

Soon to have damaged knees

By Bob Comeans

There were thirteen of us, all named Jim, even the girls.

It just made it easier for Grandpa.

Thirteen cousins, Jim, Joe, Jerry, Jeff, Judy, Jim, Joe, Jeff, Jerry, Bob, Mike, Bill, Kathleen. Lot of J names there. It just kind of ran that way in a couple of the families.

Who could really keep track of all those names anyway?

Grandpa was a working man. The kind of man who could wear out an anvil with a rubber hammer, and those poor, “beat to heck” hands of his proved it. Continue reading

I Missed Out

A Publix on Monument Road in Jacksonville, Florida

By Bob Comeans

I was standing right there, it was happening in front of me, and I missed out.

She didn’t have much. Probably just enough to get thru the next couple of days. The basics, for her, maybe a husband, and a kid or two. Half a cart full at the most.

It rang up to about thirty five bucks and change. No big deal. She spent a solid five-six minutes trying to write the check, get out her ID, and hand the whole package over to the cashier. She seemed rushed, unorganized, and just kind of frustrated about her day. Who knows, maybe her whole life. Continue reading