When he's gone, it's like holding your breath. I'm waiting to exhale when he comes home. It's just this really restless feeling that's hard to explain.

To make a happy fireside clime To weans and wife, That's the true pathos and sublime Of human life.

At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; Th' expectant wee-things, toddling, stacher thro' To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee.

I miss this place, it's just home to me. I've lived here 49 years, it's just my home and I hope that it opens back up, I really do.

It's not just Keith. It's all of them.

That was my baby. The hardest thing I ever did was let him go.