I placed the flowers beside Dad’s grave.
“I should have listened,” I whispered.
Of course, he didn’t answer.
I sat there for a while, remembering his warning.
Never give away so much of yourself that you can’t stand when someone disappoints you.
For years, I had misunderstood what he meant.
I thought he was warning me not to love too deeply.
Now I understood that he was warning me not to disappear inside someone else’s life.
Being a good wife had meant protecting my marriage. Being a good mother had meant protecting my children. Being a good daughter had meant believing that my father was wrong about the man I loved.
Somewhere along the way, I had begun to believe that keeping everyone together was my responsibility, even when I wasn’t the person tearing things apart.
I had confused loyalty with silence.
Forgiveness with pretending.
And love with the obligation to stay.
