Complaining parents

I hate it when people complain about their kids.
I never realized how often it happens.

Poor me, my four year old grandson wants constant attention.
Poor me, my daughter is a teenager now.
Poor me, I have to buy a sports uniform for my kid and he is growing quickly.
Poor me, I have to help my kids with their homework after work.
Poor me, my kids don't clean up after themselves.
Boo hoo for them.

I dislike people sometimes, the life they take for granted.
I am bitter.

The empty seat

At dinner the other day, Rebecca placed Lev's photo in front of the chair he used to sit at. For some reason this caused me to completely break down. It was not expected, and I don't know why it was so particularly sad, but it really got to me. We had to give up on eating for a while. It had been a long time since I cried like that. And I have kept crying in the days that followed. Somehow the simple act of moving that photo re-opened the floodgates. I am glad to reconnect with the sadness. If that makes any sense.