>As I turn 89, I’m sitting alone in a retirement home with a plate of ravioli in front of me. I don’t know who made them, and I don’t know if anyone will remember my birthday.
>I have three children. I haven’t seen them in a long time. They brought me here, saying it was for my own good, but as the days pass, the phone stays silent. No calls, no visits.
>I worked 9-5 for forty years and never took more than a couple days off work. I did it so I can provide the best life for my wife and kids. Gave them everything I could. I’m not angry, just sad. Sad because, no matter how much time has gone by, I never stopped loving them. Sad because I don’t ask for much, just a hug, a kind word, a simple “Happy Birthday, Dad.”
>I just wish someone would remember me
x1
