As they grow and build their own lives, I am still gripped by the overpowering ache to help them achieve their dreams and to protect them from the terrors that seem all around us. I hope that they will find happiness, a woman with whom to share life, children to love as much as I do them, a job that satisfies appetites and soul.
But each traffic accident, bombing, article about avian flu, plane crash, murder, or accident of any kind causes some deep emotional synapse to fire, even if only a little. (I have no patience anymore for the mainstream media which feels it is performing public interest journalism by feeding dread).
Perhaps when they are the age I am now, and I am the age of their grandmother, I will relax a little.
I'll ask my mother . . . lol.