Mom and I grew up alone because my parents split when I was really young. In fact, one of the first things I remember is standing in the front seat of our little car while she was crying. I don’t remember what she was saying then, but I’m sure it was resentful of my dad. Seeing her tears hurt me, but eventually they just made me want to never be like him.

When after my first marriage I became a thinking person, I realized how overdue its end really was; it only lasted as long as it did because of my mom. I learned almost everything I knew about relationships from her, yet she is not to blame.

I own my failures since I forgave myself for becoming dad. And I probably made exactly the same mistakes mom did, but I wouldn’t know — I’ve never asked her about it. Now I don’t plan to. Life is simply too short to question our imperfections, and I’d rather just move on.