I just gotta say this out loud, or... type it, whatever. I feel like sometimes we spend so much of our lives building something, right? Like, you have these kids, and you pour everything into them. Every damn thing. Time, energy, every waking thought, every cent. And you do it because that's what you're supposed to do, because you love them more than anything, and you think, 'this is my purpose.' And for a long time, it is. It's this incredible, all-consuming thing that defines you. But then they grow up. And they leave. And they build their own lives, which is exactly what you wanted, what you worked for, but it leaves this massive, echoing hole. My boys, they're good kids, really. Paul's got his engineering thing going on, and Mark, he's a dad now, got his own little family. They're busy. I get it. I really do. But it's been... I don't know, months since either of them called just to chat. Just to see how I'm doing. It's always me calling them, and it's always short, always about something specific. And then I look around and it's like, who the hell am I now? For 30 years, I was "Paul and Mark's dad," or "the guy who works at the plant," but now I'm just... me. Retired. The plant's gone. The kids are gone. My wife, bless her heart, she's happy puttering in the garden and watching her shows. But me? I feel like a goddamn ghost in my own house sometimes. It’s not fair to her, I know, to feel this way. She thinks everything’s fine. And it is, in a way. We have enough. We’re healthy. But there’s this loneliness that just... gnaws. Like a dull ache that never really goes away. We bring people into the world, raise them to be independent, and then we’re left with ourselves, but a version of ourselves that’s been so molded by them that it’s hard to recognize the original. I just wish they'd call, you know? Not even every week. Just sometimes. Just to say hi. Just to prove I still exist outside of being their history. It feels like I'm just waiting for the next holiday, the next family gathering, to actually feel like I'm part of something again. And that's not a life, is it? Just waiting. It's like we humans, we're built to connect, to belong, and when that connection just... drifts, it feels like a fundamental part of you just withers away. And you're too proud, or too scared, or too old, to say anything. So you just sit with it. And it gets heavier. Fuck.