FWF, Kellie Elmore, Pain

Uncle Wally

My name is Wally, though people used to call me Mr. Dawson. I barely remember those days but I was you, Mister Fancy Suit, a long time ago. I had a great family and a job I loved, until my life changed and I became who I am today. My whole body is wracked in pain, every bone and muscle, even the inside of my head hurts all the time.

Pain (Photo credit: Rickydavid)

My liver and kidneys are rotting, orange like rust. I have lots of pain when I am sober enough to look at my life long enough to remember. It lasts only a minute or two, then I pop a handful of pills, drink two or three shots of cheap whiskey

 

and vodka or whatever I can get my hands on just to dull the edges around my sorry life.

I got the needle tracks on my arms, but today I’m hurting with no more crack or heroin to get me through the day. My friend Ben said he’ll come meet me at this here bar. He still isn’t here and I’m going through hell.

English: 2 Gs of Tweak (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

People don’t believe me when I tell them that I was  a white-collar, middle-class family man for more than twenty-five years. I had a little office, a desk and chair. I was a loyal employee and where did that get me? It got me nothing, that’s for sure. I put in all my hours, never took a sick day once and still they let me go.

I dealt with unemployment well the first year, I went on interviews but after a year and a half things slowed down. People weren’t returning my calls, I would interview for jobs and they would never say if I got the job or if I didn’t. I would call up and ask and people never returned the call. First, I thought it was just me but then I talked to some other guys, women too, who had lost their jobs and the same thing was happening to them, to everyone I knew.

I’d spent my whole adult life working here, every single day, being the husband to my wife Adele and the father to Gordon and Jennifer. Why, my office was a mini-vacation for my kids. every year they spent some time with me in “Daddy’s big office.” I loved that, when they came in and Mom made us all sandwiches from home. She’d do something special for herself that day, like get her hair done or her nails and I was so proud that I could give that to her. She was the best wife and mother you could ask for in a person.

Liquid Dinner (Photo credit: Rolling Okie)

What happened to the great country I lived in? No money coming in, now Adele was working part-time. Finally, something inside me died. I couldn’t stand it anymore it hurt so much that I started drinking a lot to dull the pain, I drank around the clock, I stopped shaving and wouldn’t leave the house. My wife used to scream at me, she said I was a “bad influence on the kids.” We fought all the time.

I was a nasty drunk too. Adele, threw me out. The last straw was when I got real angry, so angry that I slapped my wife, well, I pushed her and she turned pale, she was scared of me. She had every right. I was not the man she married. I was not the husband she loved, the father of her children. I was an addict but I didn’t want help, I just wanted out.

I grabbed a few of my things and stuffed them into a bag. The kids were at school and Adele was working. I took our savings money and I left. I walked out the door thinking it would be better for them. I thought I did the right thing, looking at me now, three years later, I am convinced I was right.

 

 

 

 

Children: The Moon, The Sun And A Fibro Flare Up

Sigh. Welcome. I know you are here even if I don’t have any interest in wanting you to be here. I know you have arrived in town, I can feel the physical essence of your negative energy from the follicles on top of my aching head to the bottom of my over-extended curled toes. It would be too simple to describe how I feel as “everything hurts” or use my example “it’s like having the flu every single day without the temperature.” People try to look sympathetic while they are trying to figure out if I have lost my mind. No, sorry, we are NOT crazy.  My husband was right, my balance is really off and I should have brought my pink cane that I use, on occasion. Fibromyalgia is no one’s friend.

Moon (Photo credit: Paul Garland)

Thank goodness we have for best friends and Fibro Friends, we understand each other, we know how we feel. We don’t really need to explain. I don’t have to tell my fellow sufferers how I will feel when I have to spend over 6 hours in a car. Yep, you heard me 6 long hours to get home from visiting our amazing children and that’s with no traffic. It’s realistically more likely 6 and a half to seven hours but that burns like acid on the tip of my coated tongue.

We traveled to see our adult children at their perspective colleges and I wouldn’t trade that for anything but on the way there we stopped halfway so my pain, Fibromyalgia, would be manageable. I assumed the same thing was planned for going home. It was not. How did this happen? I have no idea except that my husband did the arranging and he probably told me what he booked but with Fibro Fog, confusion and loss of memory, it did not sink in.

In the end it didn’t even matter, we are now home, we saw our adult children and whatever physical pain I suffered was quadtrupled  every second I was with them. I might make different arrangements next time but I don’t even care. That’s what Love is. Simple, Straightforward, Us, Them, Family.

Think of me, taking whatever drugs I have, including but not limited to, Benadryl,or  Xanax that might relax my muscles enough to get me through the trip, curled on the back seat cushions, going home.

I adored seeing my son and daughter, and I would do anything for either of them. I love them so much, so very much that pain and stiffness and being out of sorts for a few days, will help remind me of why we went to visit.

Sun Rays Dancing…!!! (Photo credit: Denis Collette…!!!)

We went to visit the moon and the sun. Two things I cannot live without and two things that I enjoy simply by watching. My grown-up adult kids. They are worth every darn tingle, ache, pain, IBS attack and a host of many more symptoms; so when you hear me complain, please tell me to shut-up and to remind me of how worth it, it really was. Love, family love is, what matters and pain is just a side effect. It will get better, hopefully, in a few days. Just being around them, gave my husband and myself incredible joy. It was worth every single second of this trip and many more. We have GREAT kids, each one a delightful pleasure, we’re lucky to have them in our lives. We appreciate THEM.

Thank you, kids, for having us, we loved seeing you in your home. It was great for all of us, especially me to show me how much both of you have learned and grown-up. I’m proud of you both. Really proud.

An Open Letter To Ellen Degeneres

English: Ellen DeGeneres in 2009. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dear Ellen, I hope you don’t mind me addressing this to you, I just need someone to listen, someone who cares about other people. I thought you were the right person even though I’m sure you will NEVER see it. That’s okay. With the exception of a few best friends I’ve learned the hard way that other people are too busy in their own lives to care.

I DON’T WANT ANYTHING FROM YOU.

I guess I’m trying to think and talk out loud here. I’m lost, and have no idea what happened to me, I have no idea who I am either though I used to know so clearly.

Have I just become a mountain of symptoms trying to blend themselves together in a jig saw puzzle where no piece fits? I’ve made changes, I stay away from negative people, I try to be as kind as possible and pay it forward when I can but still trouble follows me like a black cloud.

Believe me, I am NOT asking for pity. I don’t want anyone’s pity, if I want pity I give it to myself, underneath my three layers of blankets, with the door shut tight, my dog lying next to me on my bed. I don’t want pep talks either, encouraging me that it “is just a phase.” This phase is my life and I have accepted it, I just don’t understand it.  When I try to fight against the “down” period, people tell me not to do that and to be positive. Everything is a mixed message.

You have the natural talent to bring joy to others just by being yourself, I love that.

Right now, I am a huge collection of symptoms that I don’t mind sharing, I’m 57, there are people who are 97 that are healthier than I am. From head to toe: narrow angled glaucoma (eyes) many, MANY painful treatments in my eyes to try to correct that, but its a life long condition, hearing loss (had stapedectomy-operation for ears) the dreaded Eppiglottitis, I don’t wish on my worst enemy, I shiver at the thought, (open, gaping wounds below the throat,) horrific TMJ, shooting pains from my jaw/ear to my brain causing me to scream with agony caused by any random thing and some other facial myalgia the doctors threw at me) which I don’t even count. I have IBS, Fibromyalgia, Fatigue, No energy, Chronic muscle and joint pain, Fibro Fog (not remembering something someone said a minute ago.) General Anxiety Disorder, Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis (an auto immune disease of the thyroid) foot pain, wait, the most recent one and most deadly,  Kidney Failure, Stage 3? (No one ever told me about Stage one or two) I think I’ll stop here.

Now for the social things, I can’t work because of the above illnesses, my husband was laid off for the second time and still is not working. We have two fabulous children who are attending two different state universities and a dog (our second) I rescued from a shelter.

I want you to know that we ARE thankful for our blessings, we truly are. Writing this down makes me realize that even more.Thank you for listening, sometimes it is good to write it down and look at it on paper.

But, am I jinxed? Is this what they call “going through a rough patch?” Whenever I feel I’ve reached bottom something else happens. Do you only know where the bottom is when you finally start climbing up slowly? Isn’t it possible to stay down here forever?

I guess I just have to accept what is going on now, breathe slowly in and out and believe that something good will happen. Someday.

Please don’t “like” this post. I don’t.

Energy

Physical and Emotional Energy

Energy, or lack thereof, is one of the main complaints of all the varied yet connected physical illnesses I have. I honestly don’t remember what energy feels like anymore, except for the brief time when I was on Prednisone. I felt half my age and filled with methamphetamines. The world looked bright, I appreciated every second of being in that world, I felt grandiose, I was so happy to have this reprieve to what I perceived as “back to normal.”

When I had to taper down slowly I understood that this was not a drug to take for a long time. But, I distinctly remember when the drug disappeared from my body. Similar to the colorful, glorious leaves in Autumn slipping slowing to the ground until none were left… .. I looked up and saw only dry, miserable lonely branches. I remember specifically the day that the medicine left my body completely, I put my head in my arms and sobbed. There was an old movie called “Cocoon,” where elderly people were given the gift of youth for a short time, their bodies replenished, their illnesses healed, their faces back to their youthful selves. They seemed so happy until the potion wore off.

Of course the potion wore off, doesn’t it always? Aging is inevitable, loss of hearing, sight, lack of energy. I have been without that energy, that youthful quality for over seven years now but not just from aging gracefully, I could handle that. I am lying in bed with my back twisted, the heating pad behind me, feeling quite sorry for myself for actually being disappointed that I had to cancel a dentist appointment because of back pain. If that’s not pathetic, what is? It was a place to go, to get out of bed, leave the house and drive, to talk to new people, nice people, unknown people.Who understands this except other people with these disorders?

I blame my Thyroid (Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis) and Fibromyalgia for my lack of energy yet I blame the nasty, hateful people around me for draining me, for stripping me of happy energy for my soul. They are not to blame, however, I blame myself for allowing them to do that. I control me. This is my responsibility, not their responsibility. Let them rip each other apart if they want to, I don’t have to be involved with it anymore. That is my choice.

I will control whatever energy I have left. Physically and Spiritually.

LAF Photography

FWF Kellie Elmore

“We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall.” — Louise Erdrich, Tracks

I was weary, weak beyond anyone’s mind could see. It wasn’t just my physical pain that had failed me, I was used to pain. It stayed with me like a shadow every day and night of my life. This was different, this was emotional, mind pain that wrapped itself around my neck and pulled tight. I knew I could breathe but I felt like I couldn’t, like some evil demon was choking me, I could practically see inside myself, red, raw lines around my throat from the choke marks. This would be my undoing. I hoped it was.

I knew I couldn’t fight and the hysteria that I felt came bubbling up like a spring on a hot, dry day. I was out of control, lots of pills, lots of pills. Weed too. I could see the water but I couldn’t taste it or feel it. As much as I knew that logically, it didn’t prevent me from continually trying, again, the pain getting deeper, the vice holding my throat deepening every second. I was only thirteen but I had lived a thousand years already, I wanted to die, I was not scared of death. That was not a fear I had.

I knew what I was up against, I already had been living on the streets my whole life. It didn’t matter. No pills I bought from the street, that I dry swallowed, could lessen that inside feeling of feeling out of control. It was a horrible feeling, so I tried more pills, pink, blue, white, lots of colors. Like in a magazine, little pretty children wandering alone, not being able to find their mother in the middle of a busy city, constantly calling out, yet nobody would answer them. They were lost but not found. It did not have a happy ending. All these children could do was cry and be afraid and the story would finish just the way it started. I knew better than that. I kept popping more pills, nothing was happening to me. Yet.

Sometimes that’s the way the world works. Not everything gets tied up perfectly with a pink, lace ribbon, curled on the ends. Not everyone is a tiny ballerina on stage, showered with perfect red roses after a performance on their pointed pink ballet shoes. No, that was for dreamers and I was no dreamer. That was for people, the very tiny amount of people that lived in the rich life I never came in contact with but I heard about or read about it. My mother was a junkie, she lived on the streets, sometimes but not with me, no. I saw my mom who I called “Destiny” shooting up heroin in a corner, on a street. We didn’t say hello to each other. Usually she was so out of it she wouldn’t know me. When I recognized her, I pretended I didn’t. Me, popping pills, her doing heroin.

I was a street child, a crazy one at that. I lived here and there, whatever place I decided was mine for the night. The only name my mother ever called me was “gutter-child.” That’s the only name I knew.

National Invisible Illness Week: September 9 – 15th

Fibromyalgia Eye (Photo credit: Vinally2010)

Who am I?  Can you see me ? Over here. The woman with the curly brown hair, green eyes, the one sitting down on the bench inside Target or the supermarket. No, I’m not lazy, I’m tired. Did I sleep well? No, but I don’t usually sleep well even though I have medication for that. Do I feel rested when I wake up, eager to take on the world. Well, no but I am older. How old? I’ll be 57 in two weeks. Well, it might not sound old to you, to me it’s ancient.

I have a childhood friend who claims she has Fibromyalglia  but refuses to see a rheumatologist. What? Yes, she sees a general doctor, one who knows about endocrinology for her thyroid.Do YOU see the point? Right, me either.  I have tried so hard to help her feel better but I’ve stopped, she obviously doesn’t want to feel better, she wants to complain.I grew up with her, no other bond, my mother remembers she’s been complaining since she was five, I remember it too.

I had to go to neurologist after I suddenly fell, on my back and test after test came out perfectly normal except for one: I had no balance. He had me walk a straight line in his office as if he was a police officer and I was a drunken driver. I zig -zagged on that line as if I had an overdose of margaritas and tequila sunrises and amaretto sours, mixed together in a huge bathtub big enough to fill a college party.

“Hmm” he said, “you have no balance” I nodded my head, up and down, ‘yes, I said, I know’ but he shrugged his shoulders and sent me away and said “I was fine.” If I was fine, why didn’t I have any balance? “Oh, it’s probably your Fibromyalgia…”he said. I’ve found now that when doctors don’t know what you have and they know you have Fibromyalgia that’s the answer they give. Nobody wants to take the time to figure it out, they don’t care, half of them don’t believe in the diagnosis anyway; since we don’t have many answers let’s all lump the various symptoms together toss them into a bag and label them Fibromyalgia. That’s easy.

What’s not easy is not having a cure and there really no potential in site. I happen to have a wonderful rheumatologist in the city and he is not only incredibly knowledgeable, he also really cares and that is an amazing combination and very hard to find. I don’t have as much pain as others but I have no energy. I can do one or two errands depending on the day and I never know in advance. It’s hard to make plans. Close friends understand, others don’t, want to know who your true friends are? Oh, it’s not hard at all.

I have a handicapped parking sticker for my county, you should see the dirty looks I get sometimes when I try to get out of the car. People judge on no information, they don’t ask, they immediately judge. They don’t notice the pain in my eyes from sitting in my car trying to stand up? No. So they notice the pain in the back of my eyes so I don’t cry out?  I don’t look “sick” is that it? That’s what I thought.Do not judge me or my handicapped sticker, I don’t judge you.

There it is, I don’t look sick therefore I must not be sick? Wrong. If my legs were in casts or my arms and shoulders too perhaps you would understand, but just because my pain is in the inside doesn’t mean I’m not sick. Sometimes, I wish I could show you my pain, physically. because emotionally, you’ve already done your very best to make me feel like worse than I already do. Maybe you could stick my whole body in plaster, maybe then you would understand.

The Moment A Tear Falls

DISTRESS (Photo credit: Davi Ozolin)

Blue. Medium Blue, not Light Blue. Medium to Dark Blue. Not Black, Definitely Not Black. That’s what I was, for some time, I wasn’t happy. I started looking for answers to why I was so blue, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t think; I was trapped within myself. There had been anger and tension in my extended family and I looked everywhere to find answers; I was depressed, you don’t need a reason for depression. It is, it just happens, you feel sad, alone and it is also contagious. My husband has been depressed for several months, my rock, my person to lean on, it shook me up, not that I knew it when it was happening. I was searching for something, anything, anywhere but in essence, I had forgotten an important thing. I had forgotten about me.

I wanted to run, hide, have people help me through these feelings that I didn’t like, depression, feeling blue, blah and everything that comes with it. Little things just added to my depression. “I was quite surprised when I dragged myself in to see my therapist and she asked if there was anything I was looking forward to?” I literally looked at her as if SHE was crazy. I had nothing to look forward to, but she could tell that by just glancing at my face.

Now, since the fog has lifted a bit, I can try to look forward to another day on this earth though when you are severely depressed that is not an option. You can’t. Aside from Fibromyalgia, an Auto-Immune disorder and some physical pain I don’t have a disease that is life threatening (well, not yet.) I  should have been thankful for that but you can’t see it that way; It just doesn’t fit into the pattern. You just want to lie still in bed, under the  blankets.

I stopped searching for all things outside my life and one day I felt a cloud gently lift, literally by inches, I pictured as a venetian blind being pulled up slowly and just a bit. I didn’t want to get excited but I noticed it and that itself felt good. Cautiously, I waited until the next day and the next and I was feeling a little better. I had stopped reaching outside and started looking within, when I started to cry, really cry and get angry I thought that it was a good sign. Who said “Depression is anger towards inward?” A bunch of psychiatrists including Freud and in my case, I have to admit, I agree.

If you haven’t been through (even a mini) depression you really can’t relate, I was let in, however, to a world I had never seen and it scared me half to death. My empathy for people with depression is stronger, I had never been depressed before. I saw a part of your pain, a glimpse really and I don’t want to go back.

Venetian blind, detail (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

all photos used are property of the owners.

Escape To The Bedroom

8773 – St Petersburg – Hermitage – Aphrodite (Photo credit: thisisbossi)

I’m so tired, my eyes are threatening to close and go on strike forever. I see puffs of clouds through jagged corners of my weary green eyes.  Believe me, I don’t want to fight you, I just want to go under my covers and sleep. It is the fourth day of gray, cold, damp weather and I try to pretend I am not even here. My Fibromyalgia tender points are raw, if I even touch one gently with my soft finger I scream with pain. It’s as if a rainbow of sharply pointed colored pencils plunge deeply into my tender points with the power of a strong hammer, the tip of bold silver needles aiming for precision. There is no cure and no release, not on these cold, damp days. Welcome to my chronic world.

I am taking a trip now, escaping under my blankets, where I belong. It is warm and sunny, I regret not having stronger sun glasses.  I am wearing a short, dark blue denim skirt that I haven’t been able to fit into for 20 years, I have a white V neck short-sleeved top with stunning embroidery around the lace yoke, a colorful beaded necklace around my neck, blue, yellow, pink, purple beads held together with silver strands. I am wearing silver sandals and freshly painted pink toes and I am smiling, happily. I move my head to catch the breeze and my hair feels like it is joyously dancing. I am not alone.

My lips have just been brushed, my breath stalled, the lightness of butterfly wings with unfamiliar lips brushing mine and lingering for a second too long to think it was an accident. It is just a touch, which makes my heart start to beat rapidly, and I have  t rouble regulating my breath. Both of us linger, for a second, in the air as we try to understand what just happened. That first question of possible romance and sexual curiosity being stirred up after such a long time. Who knew that they still existed? I thought they were gone forever, I fooled myself into thinking that because it made my dreary life easier.

‘I feel awkward and shy, my cheeks blushing pink, childishly and I try to hide my face from my new love but he misses nothing. He curls his hand and gently strokes my cheek, lovingly as if I was a precious gift. He looks at me as if I am his treasure, I don’t remember feeling like anyone’s object of worship ever before. This is separate, a later in life gift, a precious offering that I am trying to fight but know I will attempt to struggle hard and eventually may give in. Who doesn’t want to feel loved and sensual and appreciated? Who doesn’t want their body to be stroked so slowly and lightly that all your senses awaken like budding flowers from the long, dark, icy winter. I have never heard compliments murmured in my ears, whispering loving phrases as if my body and soul were a beautiful sculpture, more beautiful than Aphrodite.

I am yours, under these covers, in our world, in my head. You keep me alive, you make me vibrate and tingle until I can imagine I will see you the next time. We both long for that, sometimes not having the access immediately intensifies the passion, the lust. I want our eyes to meet again, the first second of shyness, the second of hunger, of greed and then…..’

Someone is pulling on the covers, intruding on my safe world, someone is screaming for me to” wake up.” No, I don’t want to leave but leave I must. I don’t want to return to that world with its gray dullness seeping into every molecule of my ordinary self. My brain is dead, my emotions flattened; I am jealous of my own fantasies.

On Healing

Window view of dead end road to Port – geograph.org.uk – 1156081 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today is the first day I have felt stronger; strong enough to help myself heal from a very rough few weeks. I felt the urge to get out of my house. I went to a store and talked with the owner, a woman my age, and I bought myself a necklace that has a wishbone on it and a small mustard colored pocketbook. There was no occasion other than I wanted to make myself feel good and they were both on sale. It was so good to be out of the house, talking to someone new; even though the clouds and rain have been non-stop for two weeks, I felt my heart start to brighten, just a tiny bit. I had done something different.

I posted a sign in my neighborhood to ask others if they wanted to help me help others, to brain storm, ( ideas welcome here too) to perform acts of kindness; something I have always wanted to do but never really knew how to get started. I don’t know if I will get a response but I like the fact that I initiated it. I’m not usually an initiator but it’s about time I became one.

My husband and I drove and rejoined Costco, it doesn’t take much to please me. I actually used the electric cart so I didn’t have to walk the long aisles where I know I get tired and cranky (thank you, chronic pain) and I was proud of myself for the idea and figuring it out on my own. I was proud not to be afraid, proud not to be ashamed. Fibromyalgia, Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, take a hike, me-1, them-0.

Since my son was not home on Mother’s Day, we celebrated Mother’s Day tonight and went out to dinner. The four of us had “Fother’s Day” (Faux Mother’s Day” ) in a restaurant that I chose. It was lovely and there was no fighting and GASP no cell phone use. My daughter complimented me on my hair and I was thrilled. We weren’t going to order dessert but lo and behold, on this day, every week, (yes, it’s going in my calendar) you get free dessert if you order an entrée. How could we possibly say no? One chocolate cake, one banana bread pudding (with almond ice cream) and one apple crisp (with almond ice cream) later we were completely full, unable to move but incredibly happy.

Bandages on wounds, kisses on boo-boos, soft, warm blankets for being cold. I sensed I needed a sign, a cosmic sign and I contacted a friend, a famous medium, Roland Comtois, who was kind enough to answer me but there were no signs from him. Later in the evening I got my sign on my own telling me I was on the right path: getting out more, being with people, feeling stronger and doing for others; my dad checked in with me from heaven. His initials, as always, blue on orange license plates, on a car parked in front of me, FBF. I should have been more patient for my own signs. I should have trusted myself. Thank you, Roland for listening, you are a gentle, sweet soul; a gift to both worlds.

I’m on my way back, stronger. There will be days when I feel unsteady. I’ve been through an incredibly rough year. It was bound to come out at some time. We had no home for over three and a half months. I had a despicable doctor who was cruel. I felt ganged up on by my mother and sister and that is a horrible place to be. I am stronger now, I will not accept being ganged up on anymore, ever. I have my own boundaries. I am on my way; I will allow myself a bad day or two now and then. That’s okay.

Old Pain Anew

Image by ec-jpr via Flickr

Many moons ago

They told me that I probably would never conceive babies.

I was lost inside myself with pain and grief, tears dripped down me like a steady rainfall.

I suffered emotionally and physically, drugs, blood drawn, nightly injections plunged

in to my thigh from my husband.

The pain took over me, possessed me with the sole, solitary routine of sadness and grief.

They told me I couldn’t have babies, that I was barren.

I listened to them every bright sunny day until every dark dismal night for two and a half years.

Those stupid fool nurses and doctors who clucked their heads at my chances were wrong.

When I got pregnant it was the happiest time in my life, I burst with blossoms.

I loved being a glowing pregnant woman sharing a secret with her unborn child

my hand rubbing my tummy lightly in soft circles.

My children were born twenty-one months apart, now 17 and almost 19.

I gave birth to each of them, a blessing, a gift, two presents from G-d.

The years pass too quickly, like a frenzied movie at the wrong speed.

I miss the emotional softness from young children

kisses soft as goose down, sloppy hugs, wet kisses and shiny faces like lit pumpkins.

My son is leaving for college in three weeks

I  realized this pain is very familiar, it is the feeling of loss.

It hurts but I am older now however,

the past, as I know it, is gone forever.

Time moves at a rapid pace robbing us of memories.

They are leaving me, and not turning back to wave good-bye,

I know that they will return but it is a new stage, a turned chapter, a new course.

It is a big change and one that we all may love but tonight, in this instant,

I feel barren, all over again.