[Crowbob]

Exactly correct and thank you for it, Norm.

I remember standing, one foot on the ground, bearing the load, the other waiting to slide my self into a battered and beat up pick up truck, peering through the filthy window of the open door, in tattered clothes one Sunday afternoon as my son, pleading in all of his glorious and glittering innocence enveloped by footed pajamas, to stay with him a little while longer. All the while, with his clean and sparkling image further obscured by the grey and leaden weight of my tears of guilt and rage, I said:

I can't.

That also passed.