We have so many hopes and dreams for our children, and they, in turn, have so many hopes and dreams for us, their parents. But there are so many paths that do not lead to the fulfillment of those dreams.
My eldest daughter is a successful lawyer in DC. She has two children, a boy and a girl. I don’t know their names or ages. I will never meet them. I haven’t seen her or spoken with her since her wedding day. I know what her “issues” are, but what really hurts is that she never even bothered to ask me about them. I have called, written, emailed, and texted. For years, I sent her a poem for her birthday, a tradition I began the day she was born. I don’t do that anymore.
You and I, we are parents of adult children, which I think is synonymous with brokenhearted. You cannot fix my relationship with my first born any more than I can fix yours, but that doesn’t mean we don’t ache, each for the other.
Yes, I have read your horrific account of your hospital stays with Amy and Olivia. It was after reading it that I clicked the “follow” thingy. What you did back then was selfless and brave. There is nothing in my life that comes close. And yet here we are. Different parents of the same first born daughter. Maybe that is too bold. Not the same daughters, but a similar heartache.