Bokelskere.no

I wept alone, feeling guilty at how impatient I had been with my own children. I composed a lengthy email apologizing for omissions years ago, but didn´t send it. Otherwise, I saw that most of my kids´childhood was a blank. I had either been somewhere else, or wanted to be, doing something "important" or "intellectually demanding". Or I wanted the children to be more like adults - less passionate and infuriating, in other words.

...I was also shocked by how forgettable, or disposable, I seemed to be. For years, as children, our parents have us believe they could not live without us. This necessity, however, never applies in the same way again, though perhaps we cannot stop looking for it.