Remember when we were in the maze? I don't think I've ever felt like a father quite like the time among the corn cut into a Looney Tunes pig. We walked the path, and I chose wrong once, and we doubled back. I led with the confidence of a navigator holding all the answers on a page.

It's fall again, and the maze is haunted. Dark comes early now. The stalks rustle where your voice used to be. It's getting colder, and I still need to decide where to turn. I was not given a map for this.