Just one paycheck from living on the streets|. Of two breadwinners in my home, one has been injured and and is unable to work. The dominos fell and now Deb and I are living gratis, under a roof provided by my one of my daughters. Deb and I own a tent, but would like to keep FROM living in it, as the horizon of our third decade wed approaches. We must move on in a few days, What happens next is the business of the future. 64 years old, a limp from right leg mutilated in a farm accident fifty years ago, peripheral neuropathy both numbing and burning my extremities. And I am on oxygen. My dear spouse, Deb, labors under her own maladies. Sciatica, lordosis and a torn rotator cuff start the list for her.

The transition has been a tumble through a cheese grater factory,soul and heart shredded,  two sad portraits of Dorian Grey and our nerve stretched to the sticking point. Civility was the best we could do, charm, reassurance  and empathy are far beyond our grasp as we walled up and waited for the next disaster.

Deb and I have been in the same harness, facing the same fears, fighting the good fight together. Morning sunrise comes hard when your quest is a search for a place to lay your road-weary bones and you don’t know where the next plate of beans is coming from. It was on one of these grey mourning’s that I lay, eyes closed, dreading the dawn, that I learned an important lesson on values.

A tiny hand.

Cool like satin and smooth as silk. Took my hand and whispered……

Something only I will hear

something that warms my heart and steels my soul against the world

I a so glad you are  here to help me find my way Deb.

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