I miss my old home. I could have been there, not facing problems of foreclosure. I could still be working at the second to last job, possibly earning 15+ an hour. But that depends on whether or not my hearing loss would have cost me the job. It could have.
I miss my parents. Dad gone 15 years, Mom 14.
I miss my hearing. My aid is not working (Need an ear piece and tube), and that's not assuring me of anything. My eyesight is going, too...or so it seems. It's not comforting.
But I think, even with so many losses (house, parents, hearing, eyesight, health in general, wife's health) I think I miss one thing more than anything....
I refer to dreams. I used to have dreams that I pushed to reach, I had goals, I had fantasies.
So many dreams fell by the wayside in the last 30 years. SO MANY. I don't know where to start, or even if I should.
I dreamed of being a musician. I wrote songs (Still do, but it's much harder). I sang. I was in a band, our goals were big. Larry went on to become a who was able to live part of his dream. Jeff disappeared. Dave wasn't really into it, went into accounting.
I became more conservative in my goals, aiming for computer science. Failed miserably. Took up locksmithing, but have never really used it. Instead, I became a nothing. I worked for a music distributor for many years...that's as close as I came to my dream there.
I tried to write. In fact, I finished a novella. But I wasn't able to get the publishing I needed. I continue to work on a new novel, but the lack of success on the first has given me no hope for the second one. It sits, unfinished. And I look at the dream destroyed. What good ARE they, anyway? I mean, really. What good is a dream if you can never fulfill it? It sits as a constant reminder of failure.
Pain is always with me, now. Asthma has taken away my ability to do a lot of things. Hernias have taken away my ability to do heavy lifting. And my hearing loss has taken away my singing... what's left?
It's said that when God closes a door, he opens a window. Unfortunately, my windows are all bricked up. There's no escape from the dismal existence which I now live. Except, of course, through death.
My poem ASHES (Written nearly 25 years ago) pretty much defines it:
The flame in the fireplace has flick'r'd out.
All that's left in sight
are the ashes of the log
which once burned so bright.
The ashes are the last memory
of that forgotten tree. But they
are even more:
Once I was like that log,
so full of hopes and dreams.
Now all I have is ashes:
Shattered hopes, shattered dreams.
The floor of the fireplace has now been cleaned
ASHES thrown into a can.
And like the hearth is left, I too, am left....
A hollow, empty man.
So much missed. So many dreams destroyed. So much lost -- It's the facts -- As I see it.