notanotherphony.

after two more months of mania and excitement combined with big plans and constant exercise I woke up yesterday.  listened to some sad songs.  and then bawled my eyes out.  the struggle intensifying daily.  weekly.  monthly.  yearly.  the thought of never getting out of this depressing situation frightens me.  psychiatrists.  psychotherapists.  psychologists.  life coaches.  group therapy.  pills.  more pills.  exercise.  goal setting.  constant advice.  constant reading.  constant writing.  constant planning.  seemingly constantly constant.  Taylor one year away from high school and my life is more chaotic and uncertain than ever before.  fear.  panic.  confusion.  struggle.  tears.  fear.  panic.  confusion.  struggle.  tears.  fear.  panic.  confusion.  struggle.  tears.  the never ending vicious cycle.  when does it end?  where does it end?  how does it end?  will it ever end?

HOPE.  fading hope.  fading life.  seeing Taylor flourish amidst a house filled with frustration and pain and anger and fear.

“LET GO OF FEAR.”  as we sit frozen in fear.

walking Taylor to school daily and then coming back to the house to accomplish nothing.  constant lists and constant goals combined with constant clutter and constant battles.  life never in flow.  life never easy.  struggling to help Sarah find her way.  struggling to help Taylor find her way.  struggling to help myself find my way.  everyone trying to find their way as the years pass by and life is closer to ending than beginning.

I drive into the city and see constant stress.  constant speed.  constant anger.  everyone racing to their dead end jobs that pay rich people well and offer up scraps and fear to the rest.  a world filled with less happiness.  more anger.  less jobs.  more rage.  more fear.  more hatred.  less connection.  less certainty.  less friendships.  more debt.  more depression.  more anger.  less love.  less play.  less fucking.  more sleeping.  less clarity.  more mania.  more dullness.  more dictators.  more government.  more elections.  more awful movies.  more awful music.  less powerful films.  pop culture destroying life.  society falling for fake news.  fake music.  fake films.  fake people.  fake people now more prevalent than real people.  social media turning life into a never ending race for popularity.  a never ending battle for likes and a never ending battle for acceptance.  social media offering little but fake smiles.  fake tits.  fake lips.  fake opinions.  fake friends.  fake conversations.  and fake popularity.  such a fucking soul sucking clutter of fake pictures and fake ads.  fake products and fake smiles.  a society that applauds the fake while condemning the speakers of truth.  condemning the activists but applauding the rapists.  applauding the killers.  applauding fat useless fuckers like Doug Ford and Donald Trump.  putting anger, hatred, stupidity, racism, sexism, and elitism on the pedestal while shouting profanities at the activists.

I drive through the small town of Orangeville and wonder why all the roads are under construction and being paved all at the same time.  politicians getting paid good money to come up with bad decision after bad decision.  but then we have elections to vote for the same insanity.  the same incompetency.  the popular vote choosing the leaders but the popular people were never the smart ones.  the popular people were usually the dull ones with no opinions so as to remain popular.  popularity still important at forty.  fifty.  sixty.  seventy.  lives unfulfilled and then dying a slow death looking at their loved ones left behind.  such sad lives.  such sad people.  but then I look at my life and I am sad.  I am lost.  I am lonely.  lonely and cluttered.  cluttered brain and a cluttered heart.  then the thought of “you are who you are” hits me like a Louisville Slugger.  it hits me hard and it hits me quick.  can we ever really change?  do we ever really change?  can we ever recover from a poor upbringing with lots of trauma and frequent losses?  frequent betrayals and sudden sadness?  the thought of this frightens me and then I think of my age and see life winding down.  passing by.  memories of childhood seemingly out of reach.  and for all the trauma and loss that I experienced I would love to go back to witness and feel it all again.  the ups.  the downs.  the extreme highs and the shockingly traumatic lows.  but the constant excitement of life was exhilarating.  the hope.  the fear.  the uncertainty.  the FREEDOM.

FREEDOM IS THE PULSE OF LIFE.  FREEDOM TO BE.  FREEDOM TO EXPLORE.  FREEDOM TO ALLOW.  FREEDOM TO LOVE.  FREEDOM TO HOPE.  FREEDOM TO PLAY.  FREEDOM TO DO.  FREEDOM TO BE YOURSELF.  and that is missing.  I sit in a dull town with dull rules.  dull bars.  dull roads.  dull people.  dull entertainment.

my back is sore.  my conversation is dull.  I drink wine.  listen to music.  read.  go to bed.  wake up.  drink coffee.  run.  cycle.  eat lunch.  drink another coffee.  clean out the basement.  make lists.  make goals.  do the laundry.  play soccer with Taylor.  come back.  read again.  listen to more music.  pop some pills.  turn off the lights.  check that the doors are locked for the fourth time and then go to bed.  six hours of sleep never enough but I never learn.

does anyone really change?

will my life ever change?

how will I die?

I bawled my eyes out as I listened to “Tears In Heaven” by Eric Clapton and to think that his 4 and half year old son climbed over their 50th floor balcony in New York City and fell to his death.

GUILT.

losing a child must be the most traumatic event in anyone’s life.

would you ever recover?

the world is becoming scarier and scarier and I am becoming more lost and less certain but I have a daughter to raise and I must give her all of my love.  all of my hope.

STUCK.

TEARS.

WHY?

Jack Tait sat in his rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and looked to the skies above.  he saw a dirty old ceiling with dirty old stains and dirty old paint.  he struggled to get up from the dirty old couch and made his way across the dirty old floor and opened the dirty old door and walked outside onto the dirty old lawn.  he sat down on the dirty old ground and lay back onto his dirty old grass.  he looked above and saw many old stars in a very old sky.  he was old and beaten down by his dirty life.  dirty wife.  dirty family.  dirty country.  dirty world.  everything seemingly dirty but no matter how dirty everything was Jack Tait refused to give in.  he refused to die.  he refused to give up on his life the way many had long ago given up.  he knew that despite the many tragedies, many disappointments, many losses, many failures, many long lonely nights mixed with too much booze and too little sex he still wanted to live.  he still felt the world was beautiful.  a beautiful world filled with beautiful people and beautiful things.  he knew that one day he would be stuck in a dirty old hospital filled with dying old people who were lonely and sad and so he wanted to make the most out of his NOW.

he grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and took a swig and then lay back down to look at the stars.  he was peaceful.  he was calm.  he was relaxed.  twenty four hours earlier he was in a drunken stupor and yelling at his imaginary friends and imaginary dog.  he was slurring his words while he nakedly stumbled down his dirty driveway to the dirty road.  he was in a typical blackout.  a typical stupor.  a typical anger.  a typical night in a less than typical life.  a life filled with contradictions and rage and happiness and loneliness and sadness and humour and overall fun.  a life.  a life that continued to move forward and continued to surprise.

Jack Tait sat up and took another swig and then lay back down.  his red face now matching his one red nut.  redrum.  redrum.  redrum.  everything red.  everything rum.  he relaxed once again and began to drift off into a blissful sleep.  coyotes howling.  crickets chirping.  dogs barking.  leaves rustling.  a lonely man in a lonely house.  sleeping.  breathing.  dreaming.

dreaming of his youth.  dreaming of his first teacher.  his first friend.  his first bike.  his first grade.  his first goal.  his first fight.  his first orgasm.  his first drink.  his first love.  his first arrest.  his first jail.  his first fuck.  his first betrayal.  BETRAYAL.  BETRAYAL.  BETRAYAL.

WHY IS THERE SO MUCH BETRAYAL IN OUR WORLD?

WHY IS THERE SO MUCH BETRAYAL IN MY LIFE?

WHY AM I SO HOT RIGHT NOW?

WHY DO SO MANY PEOPLE HURT SO MANY PEOPLE?

WHY DO PEOPLE DRIVE SO FAST?

WHY DO PEOPLE KILL EACH OTHER?

WHY DO PEOPLE GO TO WAR?

WHY DO PEOPLE HAVE ELECTIONS WHERE THEY ELECT DUMMIES?

WHY DO SO MANY HORRIFIC EVENTS HAPPEN IN SUCH A BEAUTIFUL WORLD?

WHY?

WHY?

WHY?

Jack Tait continued to sleep while his mind continued to work.  so many questions and never any answers.

the night turned to dawn and Jack Tait woke up.  he was still naked.  and still hot.  the booze began to seep through his pores and he was clammy and ugly.  he struggled to get up but he succeeded.  he found his blue tricycle and walked it out to the main road.  he jumped on and started pedalling west.  he was naked.  he was sad.  he was alone.  always alone.  always sad.  on the outside always happy.  always mad.  a cycling contradiction in a contradicting life.  a lonely man wanting love.  wanting connection.  but a lonely man pushing everyone away.  family the most important thing to Jack but Jack never seeing his family.  never knowing where they were or what they were doing.  a family man seemingly with no family.  a family man filled with rage and drunkenness and volatile behaviour and sadness and confusion.  confusion getting lost amongst the bigger emotions of rage and sadness.

Jack Tait rode and rode and rode.  he was sweating.  he was crying.  he was naked.  he was alone.  he couldn’t keep up to the zooming trucks and speeding cars but that never stopped him from his goal.  his life goal.  his purpose.  his passion.  he wanted to connect.  he wanted to love.  he wanted to find his Mom.  he wanted to find his Dad.  he wanted to find his long lost wife and long lost daughter.  he knew that he only had ten good years left until he was unable to walk.  unable to move.  he needed LOVE now.  the clouds descended down and the rain fell heavily.  cars swerved off of the roads.  accidents were plenty.  sirens were loud.  chaos everywhere.  dogs barking.  kids screaming.  girls fucking.  men jerking.  Jack Tait continued to ride.  nothing would stop him.  nothing would slow him down.  cops wouldn’t get him this time.  he knew what he wanted and he was going to get it.

he looked ahead and saw his long lost daughter sitting on the side of the road.  she was alone.  she was sad.  she was wet from the rain.  she was no longer twelve.  she was thirty.  time always flying by too quickly.  Jack Tait sped up.  he was forty feet away from her.  forty.  thirty.  twenty.  ten.  nine.  eight.  seven.  six.  five.  four.  three.  two.  and…

Jack Tait woke up in a drunk tank.  naked.  alone.  sad.  his one lonely ball scraping the dirty floor in the dirty cell.  he was sweaty.  clammy.  lost.  lonely.  unsure.  depressed.

he only wanted to connect with his daughter.

he only wanted to love.

he only wanted to live.

he never wanted life to end.

he knew that one day he would NEVER see his daughter again.

he knew that one day he would NEVER see his daughter again.

he knew that one day he would NEVER see his daughter again.

Jack Tait was released and hopped on his blue tricycle.  he rode east on the barren road back to his rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.  alone.  sad.  lost.  confused.

he knew that one day he would NEVER see his daughter again.

I don’t know where to start.  where to begin.  so many happenings and so much emotion combined with so much clutter and so little good conversation.  a society built on facebook “likes” and Instagram followers.  a sick society that is run by phony people in phony clothes with phony smiles and phony gatherings.  a society that applauds the phony but looks down on the real and judges them with their beady little eyes and small and sad hearts.  a society filled with “rip” posts but the posts made to enhance their following and enhance their “brand”.  empathy long gone and replaced with ego and narcissism.

many so-called actors taking selfies on the Danforth after the horrific shooting last week.  taking selfies and using hashtags of Danforth Strong but only wanting accolades.  posing in their typical sexual way and receiving typical comments from the followers.  the followers always making comments about how hot they are or how sexy they look.  such pathetic phonies but the phonies easily fooling other phonies as our world continues to get beaten down by useless politicians and useless fake artists.  fake politicians.  fake actors.  fake filmmakers.  fake friends.  fake parents.  everything fake but the fake (sheep) ruling while the real artists continue to suffer with feelings.  real feeling and real empathy.  such sheep.  such pathetic sheep.

onto my next rant.  my next issue.  which is almost the same rant.  the same issue.  “selfies”.  what the fuck is the point of taking a selfie?  who started this phenomenon?  why?  what purpose does the selfie do?  and even more pathetic than the selfie is the bikini selfie with some sort of sexual look on their faces.  what the fuck are these girls trying to accomplish?  in a world filled with #metoo complaints and issues what would possess these girls to strip down and pose for their own picture?  their own sexual picture.  their sexual picture that gets 400 likes and 100 comments of, “HAWT” and “OMG  you are so gorg”.  fake comments by fake girls setting back their #metoo movement into a movement of hypocrisy.  a movement of attention.  a movement of confusion.  and why do we not call out this type of behaviour?  seemingly complete and utter narcissism that gets applauded instead of scolded.  maybe I should have more empathy.  be more empathetic.  maybe girls don’t know any better.  maybe society has forced them to take these half naked pics of themselves.  but why do many girls NOT feel the need to get attention from sexual pics but so many others do?  and why not “call out” this narcissistic behaviour instead of “like” and applaud it?   the hypocrisy of our society.  the phoniness of our society.  the dullness of our society.

death.  life.  it comes and goes way too fast.  way too soon.  love fleeting.  being replaced by phones and bad tv.  bad movies.  bad music.  life.  death.  wrinkles coming.  hair going.  conversations wanting but never happening.  snippets of banter on social media replacing meaningful conversations about the world.  about life.  people dying in horrific ways but society and it’s sheep using the deaths as tools to further their name.  their brand.  sad individuals.  sad.  lonely.  insecure.  shameful.  shameful behaviour that gets applauded.  applauded by the sheep but the sheep end up being meaningless in the grand scale of life.

follow your heart and follow your soul.  avoid the fake and phony as much as possible although it is becoming harder to do.  they are everywhere and dressed in all kinds of different clothing.

love.  always love.  but do not be shamed.  do not be shamed into silence.  into stillness.  provoke.  challenge.  reach out.  reach out with a big heart and a big soul.  reach.  reach.  reach.  preach.  preach.  preach.  love.  love.  love.  breathe.  breathe.  breathe.  fight.  fight.  fight.

another day about to end.  any relevance to this fine day?  I ponder the question.  check my facebook.  scroll my Instagram.  images.  images.  images.  confusion.  blurry.  blurred lines and nifty nooks.  yoga helping but today was a struggle.  busy mind.  restless soul.  calm down and feel.

feel.

what is life for?

what is my purpose?

what is my destiny?

what is my future?

what does it all mean?

less friends and fewer conversation.

why?

me?

them?

her?

still looking for fun.

I knew the answer when I was twenty-five.  even thirty.  but now?  what is fun for me now?  what?  what?  what?

I down another bottle of wine and decide it is time for bed.  my wife and daughter long gone and deep into their sleep.  I turn off the lights and check outside for burglars.  none.  I lock the door and walk upstairs to my lonely bed.  I turn off the light and pull up the covers.  I used to pray but now that gets in the way so I don’t.  my back hurts but so does my knee and both wrists.  I turn onto my left side and throw my left arm out to the side but my left shoulder is in pain.  why I do not know.  old injuries.  old bed.  old man.

old.

lonely.

seeking connection.

connection hard to find.

narcissistic world filled with narcissists and phonies.

breathe.  allow.  accept.  do.  be.  create.

always create.

“don’t let the bastards drag you down.”

it was the summer of 1984.  after a tough year at school filled with failed courses and failed attempts with girls, happiness had arrived.  Bruce Springsteen was coming to Toronto.  the Born in the USA tour.  super pumped.  super excited.  tickets were going on sale on Friday and that meant lining up overnight on the Thursday.  lining up wasn’t so bad as you were surrounded by other young fans.  other young drinkers.  loud music.  loud discussions.  loud screaming.  somewhat similar to the actual concert on a much smaller scale.  but fun nonetheless.

I grabbed my friends and then we grabbed our booze.  Markville Mall.  Thursday night.  outside.  hot.  sunny.  booze.  cops.  but they didn’t seem to bother anyone.  we arrived early and stood in line.  lots of greetings.  lots of laughs.  lots of music.  lots of love.  a great day.  a great night.  the day turned into night as we continued to consume booze.  consume music.  consume conversations and consume love.  memories of youth and it’s freedom always coming back to haunt me.  haunt me in a positive way.

anyway, the night was upon us as most of the people in the line were now drunk.  now loud.  now free.  more cops but still allowing the youth to be youth.  the way it should be.  respect from both sides.  the music got louder as we tried to stay awake.  tried to hold on.  some of us would try and take little brief naps while other’s continued to drink.  continued to get drunk.  any excuse to drink back then.  any excuse to drink now.  drinking has been part of my life in so many great ways but has also been a part of my life in so many horrible ways.  life.

the sun eventually came up and now the drunkeness had turned into a hangover.  head sore.  pasty mouth.  red face.  red face filled with sweat.  mouth filled with stench.  typical hangover.  but a hangover well worth the hangover as the box office opened and I picked up my four tickets.  so excited.  so relieved.  so tired.  so hungover. big happy smiles everywhere.  it was now 8am and I knew that I needed to get to summer school by 9am.  why did I care about summer school when I didn’t care about regular school?  so many contradictions in my life.  so many emotions.

I happily walked away from the crowd with my four tickets and made my way out to Hwy. 7.  it was rush hour and there were many cars.  i was tired but I had no other way home but to walk.  i was 17 yrs old but no car and drunk.  i walked.  i walked.  it was hot.  i was sweaty.  i had my Ocean Pacific beach shorts on and I was hungover.  my head was down as I was, somehow, filled with self-consciousness.  embarrassment.  not sure why but I was.  I continued to walk.  head down.  it seemed that I wasn’t getting anywhere.  i was walking slowly.  i was getting sweaty.  more sweaty than before.  i was going to be late for my summer school class so I decided to stick out my right thumb and hitchike.  back then hitchiking was more acceptable but not sure how acceptable it was in Markham.  in Unionville.  a town filled with great people.  great friends.  but also some judgemental people.  rich people.  at this point I didn’t care.  I needed to get home.  I needed to get to summer school.

the cars passed me by.  one by one.  over and over.  no luck.  always no luck.  always persistent.  never give up.  never give up.  i continued to walk with my right hand out.  my head down.  when I looked up I would catch the eyes of judgemental workers off to their jobs.  off to their jail cells.  off to their cubicles.  I was just about to put my right hand down.  i was just about to put my head down.  i was just about to give up when I saw an old grey car pull over in front of me.  i picked up my pace with a smile and approached the car.  I leaned into the passenger side window and an older man asked me where I was going.  he had a heavy Greek accent.  he had a dangling cross on his rearview mirror.  he was wearing a dull suit.

“Get in.  I take you.”

“Thanks.”

I opened the passenger door and sat down.

he looked at me with curiosity and I looked at him with relief.  hungover.  tired eyes.  tired heart.

“where you go again?”

“Village Parkway and Carlton in Unionville.”

“Okay.  you tell me where to go.”

“Okay.  drive straight.”

the old Greek man pulled his shitty grey car back onto hwy. 7 and into the traffic.  I wondered if anyone saw me as I stared straight ahead.  quiet.  still.

“where you were?”  the old Greek man asked me in his heavy accent.

“I was lining up for Bruce Springsteen tickets.”

“”Who Springsteen?”

“He’s a musician.  I really like him.”

“Music today no good.”

“Yeah…”

I sort of started nodding off as the man continued to talk.  continued to engage.  continued to drive.  we passed a few traffic lights and then Village Parkway was coming up on the right hand side of the road.

“Turn right here…at the lights.”

the man turned right and we continued.  little talk now.  really tired now.  really hungover and pasty now.  summer school?  really???

we drove past three stop signs and then I told the old Greek man to pull over at the next stop sign but he didn’t.

he looked at me and said, “let’s go for little drive.  won’t be long.”

“No…I need to get to summer school.  please.”

“no worry.  won’t be long.  relax.”

Relax?  relax?  relax?

as we drove away I looked back at the stop sign where I was supposed to be dropped off.  I looked and wondered.  I looked and thought.  i was now silent.  now stuck.  now confused.

we drove north on Village Parkway and turned left onto 16th Avenue.  we turned left and drove west.  we then turned right onto Warden and drove north through the winding roads of beautiful Cachet Parkway.  beautiful houses.  beautiful trees.  some beautiful people.  we drove up and down hills.  it was quiet.  as we drove I began to notice the old Greek man staring down at my crotch.  i felt uncomfortable.  i twisted and turned to avoid his eye contact but he was relentless.  he was old.  he must have been horny.  he looked and looked and looked.  he then began to touch.  he touched my left leg.  he stroked my left leg.  i did not move.  i was stunned.  i was stuck.  i was lost.  i was confused.

his right hand now moved up to my crotch.  he began rubbing my penis from the outside of my grey Ocean Pacific shorts.  he rubbed slowly and softly.  my penis began to grow.

“nice.  very nice.  big.  very big.”

as he touched he talked.  one word descriptions.  where did he have to go?

“nice.  very nice.  sooo big.  sooo big.  soo nice.”

he now pulled my throbbing penis out of my grey shorts and started stroking.  one stroke.  two strokes.  three strokes and then BOOM.  my penis exploded a white and clear substance all over his hand.  all over my shorts.  he erupted.

“WHAT HAPPENED?  WHY YOU GO SO FAST?  WHY?  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

“i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.”

“WHY?  WHY?  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?  WHY YOU GO SO FAST???”

he was mad.  he was angry.

“i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.”

i still don’t know why I apologized to this sad man but I did.  he turned over to the soft shoulder and wiped up as I pulled my grey wet shorts up.  i was sitting in cum.  sitting in shame.  the old man turned the car around after a few cars passed by and slowly began driving back.  hopefully driving back to Village Parkway and Carlton.  i stared out the passenger side window.  i stared at the beautiful land.  the beautiful houses.  i was still wet.  wet with shame.  wet with shame.  SHAME.  GUILT.  SHAME.  SHAME.

The car ride back was quiet.  silent.  the old man stared straight ahead as I stared out the window.  I hope he was bringing me home and he did just that.  I started taking off my seatbelt as we approached Village Parkway and Carlton.  he pulled his shitty grey car over to the side and I opened the door and got out.

“thanks.  thanks for the ride.”

the old man in his old car drove away and I walked home.  slowly and in shame.  in pain.  seven years earlier and on this same street corner I waved good-bye to my Dad for the very last time.  he died later that night.  he collapsed on the gym floor while coaching soccer.  coaching kids.  innocent kids.  innocent kids.

i continued to walk home.  head down.  staring at my wet shorts.  the grey always showing the wet stains.

i fearfully approached the front door to our house and hoped that Dom wasn’t home.  my Mom wasn’t home.  i knew that my Dad wasn’t home.

I opened the door and yelled for my brother and my Mom.  no answer.

good news amidst the hell.

i took off my clothes and had a shower.

i washed my shorts in the sink as I never knew how to use a washer and dryer.

i then threw on my running shorts and went for a long run.

the concert was a month later.

I, sometimes, watch the concert on Youtube and reminisce.

such a great time.

such a sad time.

life.

I took the short but long drive down to The Heights Drive.  My first house.  my first recollection.  my first memories.  great times filled with loss.  filled with angst.  filled with fun.  filled with parental drunkenness and filled with lessons.  life lessons at such a young age.  lessons of love.  lessons of loss.  lessons of rules.  lessons of family.  lessons of fear.  so many lessons. such a young age.  but amidst those lessons were times filled with fun and laughter and family dinners and family laughter.  family always the most important thing in this world even when they don’t feel like family.  life lessons continuing.

I turned into the housing complex and, instantly, felt this feeling of nostalgia.  it was a weird feeling.  it was a haunting feeling.  it was a feeling filled with great memories.  great times.  peaceful.  breathe.  always breathe.  let go.  always let go.  listen.  always listen.  learn.  always learn.

I stood in the old complex and took a big deep breath in and then took a big deep breath out.  in and out.  in and out.  in and out.  there is always a way in but there, sometimes, isn’t a way out.  a way out of misery and a way out of deep feelings of loss.  life sometimes rearing it’s ugly head to go alongside it’s beautiful head filled with long highways and long haunting sounds of loneliness.  life always worth living even at the lowest of lows.  friends.  family.  itchy head but lonely heart.  but then that lonely heart becomes filled with love from your daughter.  sometimes even your wife.  but daughter usually more likely.  kids looking to their parents for love.  for acceptance.  for guidance.  but sometimes those parents aren’t ready to give guidance.  aren’t ready to give love.  sometimes those parents are filled with so much hurt and so much pain that they are mired in misery and seeking help themselves.  seeking love themselves.  seeking love.  seeking help.  seeking hope.  seeking pills.  seeking acceptance from parents who are also unable to give love.  also unable to give guidance.  also unable to give hope.  so many lost hearts and so many lost souls.

I stood around The Heights Drive and felt.  I felt big emotions.  I felt big sadness.  but I also felt big happiness.  hoping for my Dad to suddenly reappear but knowing that he is gone forever.  gone but never forgotten.

I remembered my dog Snoopy being run over by a TTC bus.  I remembered throwing a big boulder through my Superintendents’s apartment window.  I remembered painting the laundromat with all kinds of different paint.  different colours.  I remembered watching swim meets every Saturday morning.  swim meets filled with many smiling parents.  many smiling kids.  I remembered my first kiss.  I remembered my Nana.  I remembered my first concussion.  I remembered many drunken adults sitting around talking and laughing with other drunken adults.  other smiling kids.  good times.  free times.  loving times.  innocent times.  times filled with hope.  times filled with love.

life grows up and suddenly there are many friends lost.  many friends gone.  dead.  sometimes forgotten.  innocent times fallen by the side of the road long ago and never replaced with anything of significance.  anything of wonder.  anything of hope.  stressful days lead to stressful nights which then lead to stressful months and stressful years.  but stress is avoidable.  stress is not needed.  remove stress and replace with hope.  replace with love.  replace with fire.  replace with conviction.

memories.  memories from long ago.  pictures saying a thousand words but never replacing the feelings of actually being there.  actually doing.  actually talking.  actually feeling.  actually holding.

love.

loss.

family.

missing.

replace fear with hope.

replace anxiety with fire.

replace cold with hot.

replace hate with love.

love thy neighbour as thy love thyself.

stop and smell the roses.

do not let your parents wilt away in pain.  wilt away in fear.  wilt away lonely.  wilt away sad.

love.  hold.  hold.  love.

mom.

dad.

one.

one life.

hope.