On Mother’s Day, my grown kids told me they had chosen the restaurant and expected me to pay for all twelve of them, just like always.

had once promised to take her to Italy when the children were grown. He had died at forty-eight from a heart attack while replacing a broken fence panel in their backyard. After that, “when the children are grown” had become a cruel little phrase. The children grew, yes, but their needs kept growing too.

Brian needed help with college.

Madison needed continue reading …