I don't know why I'm writing this, it's just... I'm sitting here in the studio, which used to be so full of life, you know? Kids running in and out, the smell of turpentine and whatever snack they'd left half-eaten. Now it's just me and the hum of the fridge. My wife, she’s been gone for a week visiting her sister – first time she’s been away that long since, well, ever. And the kids, they're grown, obviously. My youngest just started college, and the oldest, he’s got his own kids now. It's just… quiet. TOO quiet. My business is doing okay, I mean, it’s not exactly raking in the big bucks, never has been, that’s just the nature of, you know, being an artist. Always chasing that next commission, always wondering if this is the one that’ll finally let you breathe easy. But for a long time, that was okay because there was always so much going on at home, so many demands on my time and my brain. I remember thinking, back when I first started this business, before we even had kids, that I was going to change the world with my art. Really. I had all these grand ideas, these big, colourful visions. And then life happened. Kids came along, and suddenly, you're not just creating for yourself anymore, you're creating for them. You're trying to make enough to keep the lights on, to buy those new shoes, to send them to that camp they really wanted to go to. And the art, it shifted. It became more practical, more commercial. I still loved it, don’t get me wrong, I still love the feel of the brush in my hand, the smell of the paint. But it wasn't… it wasn’t what I dreamt of when I was a kid, sketching in my notebook instead of doing homework. My wife, she always said I was a good provider, and the kids, they never went without. So I did good, right? That’s what matters. But now, it's just me. And all this space. And I look at my empty easel and then I look at all the stuff I’ve made over the years, all the commissions, all the things that paid the bills, and I just… I don’t know. My youngest called earlier, said she’s having a great time, which is good, really good. But I just sat there holding the phone after we hung up, just staring at the wall. And I keep thinking, was it worth it? All the time I spent here, in this studio, trying to make enough, trying to keep everyone happy and fed and clothed. Did I miss something? Did I miss… them? Not that I wasn’t there, I was always there, at every recital, every game, dinner every night. But was I *really* there? Or was I just… waiting for them to leave so I could get back to work? I just don't know. And now they're all gone, and the quiet is DEAFENING.