I Hear The Train A Coming

I'd title this, I Shot a Man In Reno, but Bukowski already has used it.  Back shortly before the death of my Mother, I was driving to the Thriftway late one evening, probably to get some beer or ice cream and I heard Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues on the radio.  It was as if I had never listened to the lyric, and suddenly it was new and it wasn't a lament of a man who shot another man in Reno.  It was transcendent, Folsom Prison was whatever trapped us, in my case, my dying mother.  And the railroad train was freedom, relief and deliverance from our Folsom Prison.  Within days of this epiphany my mother died.  Once my mother died I had time to grieve and I was able to be freed from that prison, and over the course of a few months I was able to let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away.
With the passing of my father, I have been struck by a couple things, first how much older I am this time and second, that this time I am, at least for the time being, stuck in the first verse of the song specifically, "I'm stuck in Folsom Prison and time keeps draggin' on."   Good news is that I am just two verses and a guitar solo from let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away.