A year has passed.
My son no longer wants to be home. Choosing Athena over his family. His bed only conforming to his body less than seven nights, in a couple of days he moves out, taking the clothes I've bought and washed and lovingly folded.
Angus, no longer needs us or wants us.
We are replaced and the pain cuts deep.
This poem marks the season of SE - not communicating, of hard liquor at the cabin and being deceptive, telling us she doesn't believe in Jesus and spitting on our treasures.
The Yes just passed, shining a light on Fiona's anxiety and her need for tools to help her with this.