I really messed up, I guess. Or maybe I didn't. I don't even know anymore, kinda just… out here, you know? Driving this rig, mile after mile, and all I can think about is that damn appointment. Mom's heart doc. The big one, the checkup after her… well, after everything. And I just flat out missed it. Missed the call from the office, missed the text from my sister, missed *everything*. Just drove right past the exit for the truck stop where I was gonna pull over and make that call, and then it was too late. Like, an hour too late. And now I gotta call my sister and get an earful, I just know it. She’s gonna lay into me, say I don’t care, say I was always too busy for Mom, even when Mom was still… here. And that’s the part that gets me, man. Mom's been gone six months now, almost seven. And I still feel like I gotta do all this stuff for her, or for the idea of her. Like I’m still responsible for every damn thing. For her meds, for her bills, for her doctors. And I did it, too. For years. Every single damn thing. My kids are grown, outta the house, so it was just me and the road and making sure Mom was okay. Which she never really was, not totally. It’s just… quiet now. Too quiet. My phone used to ring off the hook with her, or with the hospital, or with my sister complaining about something *else* I needed to handle. And now it just rings with dispatch, or sometimes one of the grandkids. And I guess I thought I’d feel… different. Lighter, maybe. But I just feel kinda empty. And tired. So damn tired. And now I gotta call my sister and get yelled at for missing an appointment for a woman who isn’t even here anymore. Like I said, I don't even know what to think. Is it a relief? Is it just… sad? Both? I dunno. I just keep driving.