When you have kids, your shit just doesn't matter. And that can be a hard thing to take.
For example, if today you find out (through EMAIL!) that your grandfather died last night from a heart attack, your baby does not know or understand that your day has gone to shit.
So you must suck it up, ignore your sadness, bite back your anger about the email part, make the phone calls you were asked to make, nurse your son, soothe him when he cries, deal with his temper tantrums.
And none of it can be made about you. None of it. Because it's not ABOUT you anymore, ever, until your child is grown up and finally sees you as a another adult. And by that time, I'm guessing, most of us have learned to cope with our shit in silence and behind closed doors.
Cheers, Grandpa. I love you and I will miss you. I thank you for teaching me about gardens, orchids, birds, and woodland animals. I thank you for watching my fashion shows and looking at my home designs. I thank you for your patience and loving acceptance. As an American, I thank you for your service and sacrifice in the Navy during WWII. I'm sorry I didn't visit more. I'm sorry I didn't listen more. I'm sorry that I just never seemed to have time. I hope that you forgive me. May you rest in peace.
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