It’s been a couple of months since the “I’m done” conversation, with only a brief email exchange between my daughter and I after I wished my son a happy new year with hope, faith and a little unrealistic expectations…
She asked me if I really knew the meaning of “WE’RE DONE”… yes… in all caps.
I still have expectations, unrealistic or not, that my kids and I will someday reconcile, that we can awkwardly rebuild out relationship, they can understand the difficult decision to say ‘no’ to save sanity and self-respect, and that the lessons I tried to teach them will be appreciated, not diminished by their mom and her family.
I am sure her family has rallied around, my family would do the same if I cried ‘victim’, but they know I wouldn’t, so they’ve silently circled the wagons with their support as my family has always done. We’re simple like that… love, mutual respect, gratitude and a little humor sprinkled daily has made a family that keeps in touch even if we don’t talk often. The kind of family I thought I could build. The kind of family I failed to build. My family that was taken from me slowly as I watched and tried to hold it together.
It’s never done. There’s a pain and longing for my kids, for the simpler times of positivity, understanding and love. When dad meant me, with smiles.
I miss my kids. Love you B&B.
Dad.
