I don't really know if this is the right place or if anyone is even awake right now but I can't sleep. It’s nearly 3 AM and I’m just sitting here in the dark with my phone. I think maybe I’m starting to lose it a little bit. I’ve always been a quiet guy, kept to myself and worked with my hands, but lately things feel... I don't know. Heavy. I spent forty years as a carpenter, building things that were meant to last longer than people, and I guess I thought I knew how things worked. But I don’t. Not anymore. My wife, June, she passed away three years ago in April. It was quiet, just the way she lived. We didn't have much money, ever. I spent my life trying to make "art" out of cabinets and chairs while she worked the front desk at the clinic just to keep the lights on. I feel like I failed her in a way, being so focused on the wood and the grain instead of the bills. I built our bed out of solid cherry back in '88. It’s a good piece of work. Dovetail joints, hand-sanded until it felt like silk. It’s supposed to be sturdy. It’s supposed to be a place of rest. The thing is... I haven't moved anything on her side since the funeral. I think maybe that's normal for a few months, right? But it’s been three years. Every single night before I turn off the lamp, I go around to her side of the bed. I smooth out the duvet—it’s that pale yellow one she liked with the little flowers—and I make sure there isn't a single wrinkle. Then I take her slippers, these old wool ones that are worn down at the heels, and I set them right where her feet would touch the floor. I do it every night. WITHOUT FAIL. I don't know why I do it. I mean, I DO know, but it feels like a secret I’m keeping from the world. My daughter, Chrissy, she came over last Tuesday to bring some groceries because she thinks I’m not eating enough. She went into the bedroom to get a sweater and I saw her face when she came out. She didn't say anything, but I saw her look at the bed. The way it was perfectly made on one side and messy on mine. She looked at me like I was a broken machine. Like something that needs to be fixed. I felt ASHAMED but I couldn't explain it to her. How do you tell your kid you're still waiting for someone who isn't coming back? I remember June used to complain about the cold floor in the mornings. I promised her for ten years I’d put down a rug on her side, something thick and soft, but I never got around to it. I was always too busy in the shop, chasing some "vision" or trying to get the perfect finish on a customer’s dining table for a couple hundred bucks that barely covered the lumber. Now I’ve got all the time in the world and no money to show for it, and I just... I lay those slippers out so she won't have to touch the cold wood if she ever comes back. I know how STUPID that sounds. I’m a 60-year-old man, I know she’s gone. But sometimes I think maybe if I keep the space ready, the universe won't feel so empty. I spent so much time being an "artist," thinking I was special because I could make a joint fit perfectly, but I couldn't even make her life easy. We struggled. We skipped vacations. We lived in this drafty house because I wanted my own workshop in the back. I look at those slippers and they’re so small. They look like they’re waiting for something that’s never coming. I feel like I’m lying to myself every night just to get through the next eight hours. I tried to stop once. About six months ago, I put the slippers in a box and shoved them in the back of the closet. I told myself, "Ed, you're being a fool." I went to bed and I laid there for four hours just staring at the ceiling. My heart was pounding like I’d left the stove on or something. I felt like I was erasing her. Like if those slippers weren't there, she’d be truly dead. I got up at 2 AM—the same time it is now—and I put them back. I cried like a kid. It felt pathetic. I don't talk to anyone about this. My friends from the trade, they just want to talk about retirement accounts or their grandkids. They think I'm doing okay because I still go to the shop and turn a few bowls now and then. But the wood feels different now. It feels cold. I used to see a block of maple and see a story, but now I just see a block of maple. I think I traded my life for a bunch of furniture that people are just going to sell at a yard sale when I’m gone. And she was the only one who really saw me, and I kept her waiting for a rug that never came. I guess I’m just posting this because I need to say it out loud. Or type it out, whatever. I feel like I’m haunted, but I’m the one doing the haunting. I’m the one keeping the ghost in the room. Is it wrong to want to stay in the past? I don't have much of a future left anyway. Just more sawdust and quiet nights. I just want to know if I'm crazy or if anyone else is still holding onto something that’s been gone for years. I think I’m just tired. I’m so TIRED of the bed being half-empty and half-full at the same time. It doesn't make any sense. I’m going to try to sleep now. I already put the slippers out. They’re sitting there on the cherry wood I sanded by hand. I can almost see her feet in them if I squint my eyes just right. I hope she isn't mad at me for being like this. I think maybe she’d want me to move on, but then I think, what’s on the other side of that? Just a room that’s finally, truly empty. I don't think I'm ready for that yet. I don't think I'll ever be ready. I just want one more morning where the floor isn't so cold.