On the list of things I should never have to do, and yet have to do far too often, somewhere very near the top is the entry that describes holding a child while they cry over their other parent's inexplicable behavior.
I love my kids, but this gets old, and frustrating. I cannot fix their broken relationship, any more than I could fix my own.
All I can do is hold them while they cry and, despite my growing cynicism and diminishing faith, find myself praying along with St. John at the end of the Apocalypse: "Even so, come, Jesus."
At least you get the opportunity to hold them. Some ex-spouses of borderlines don't have even that.
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