No, not the Blind Faith song, I had to physically cry. While cleaning out boxes for an upcoming garage sale I found a cassette tape containing long since forgotten recording of my "jamming" buddy and me playing Cat Stevens' "Bitterblue". The memory came flooding back. Nearly 10 yrs. ago in the converted tack room we used to play in. A couple mics, a TASCAM porta-studio, my trusty Epiphone accoustic, the cheap old no-name guitar Darcy refused to get rid of (it actually sounded pretty good) and away we went. Such a cool tune to play, neither one of us supremely talented vocally, but in harmony enough to make it work. A few false starts, a few takes with botched lyrics and screwed up chord changes, 2 takes pulled off just right, and then that's it, end of tape.

I listened to it twice, the first time there was tears of joy mixed in, just the thrill of finding the tape. The second time I cried with deep sadness anger, rage,despair, "Tears of rage, Tears of grief, why must I always be the thief?"

Having a spinal cord injury has robbed me of a great many things, but the loss of no one sensation, voluntary movement, or ability has hurt me more than not being able to play the guitar. Never walk again? No problem. Give me back my hands. No bowel or bladder function? No problem. Give me back my hands. Limbs that burn with searing pain every waking moment? No problem. Give me back my fucking hands.

It's not like I was a virtuoso, hell I was more than happy bashing out chords and riffing rather than studing scales anyway. I took a guitar everywhere. It took me about a year after my injury to get the strength to look at my guitars & amps again. Just having someone else have to open the case was nearly too painful never mind the first time my beloved Strat lay across my lap, my useless hands unable to hold it properly. I couldn't even bring myself to make the feeble attempt at swiping at the strings out of respect to the instrument that had brought such joy. It simply deserved better.

Then began the process of giving them new homes. My Tele, just a stock '90 American Tele, but a prized possession to me, went to a close friend along with the Fender Princeton amp I bought at the same time. The Epiphone Sheraton went to another friend. I bought it for a steal around the same time as the Tele. It's as close as I got to a Casino, like the ones the Beatles used, it was even blonde like Lennon's perfect for learning "Get Back". My Fender Twin Reverb is on "permanent loan" to Darcy the guy who I did the Bitterblue tape with. It gets regular workouts with his band. I can't bring myself to get rid of the Strat or my Epi acoustic though, they're just too close. The Strat lays in it's case beside me in my computer room, it's like a time capsule of July 1997 the date of my accident. A copy of that months Guitar World magazine, a receipt for the last new set of strings I bought. Every once in a while I open it up, smell that guitar case smell, and stare asnd wonder what could've been.

Well, WHEWWWWW that was a load off!!!! I think I'll take some Advil and have a little nap before dinner.