And he says to me, "Where did we go wrong? Our kids lives are a mess. Everyone one of them is living a mess."
I started to try to tell him otherwise, but realized that he is right.
Not one of them have the life that we wanted for them, not one of the four.
So now here I am 2 hours later, sitting in the dark, reflecting on things and wondering what We/I might have done differently.
But it doesn't matter, we did the best we knew how to do at the time.
And now, they are adults. They make their own choices.
Why aren't they remembering what we tried to show? Why is it that in their adulthood we cry more tears, and we have more worries and fears?
I don't understand any of it.
I wish sometimes I could rewind the clocks and go back to when they were small, back to when they trusted us to make all the decisions.
Will we live long enough to ever see our kids happy and at peace with their own decisions?