Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them.
Children move on, they move away.
The moments that used to define them,
a mother’s approval, a father’s nod, are covered by moments of their own accomplishments.
It’s not until much later, as the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand.
Their stories, and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, store upon stone, beneath the waters of their lives.