Today I wished my father a happy day, and gave him the gift of a book. He doesn’t read much outside of his favorite room, but when he’s in there, he has plenty of time to read quite a bit. That said, I always have conflicting emotions on this day, big surprise. I wish every father a happy day today, and I honestly wish I could join them in that celebration. I have wanted to be a dad my entire adult life. 
I have wanted a wife, children, and to be a part of that aspect of humanity, to add myself to the chain of humanity, to contribute a part of me that would go on when I am gone. That it continues to elude me just presses the pain deeper. 
My mother was 23 when she had me, my father was 19. My brother was 19, and his wife 22 when their first child was born. There are cousins who were born when I graduated high school that are getting married and starting their families. I wish them well, but oh gods the knife just twists and twists in my chest. I just have this knowing, sinking feeling that I will die of loneliness, surrounded by oblivious strangers.
When I turned 18, my mother was 41. I am 37, loveless, lonely, and childless.