George Floyd was killed one week ago this evening. While he was pronounced dead in a hospital at 9:25 p.m., he likely died an hour earlier: his face pressed against pavement, a knee lodged into his neck. He could not breathe. A week after this tragedy, I am still still sick. But I, unlike George Floyd, can still breathe. And as long as I can, I know that I have to make sure he, and countless other Black men and women across this country, stop dying—as Jason Polk so accurately stated to The New York Times—“for nothing.” I hope you do, too.