It’s been over two years, and I still don’t understand. I love my child, I love all four of my children. I’m bursting with pride for all of them. I love them for their unique talents, all as different from each other as they could possibly be. They’re all adults now, far from the tiny maniacs that so often made me want to pull my hair out when they were kids.

Now I watch them as adults, living their own independent lives, and I smile. I smile because we all survived their childhood and lived to tell the tale, and here we are in the next phase of life. I may smile, although I don’t always understand their choices and their decision.

But, that’s the beauty of having adult children. Their choices and decisions are their own; you don’t have to understand them (or even agree with them). You love them anyway. You’re allowed to love them without understanding them. Sometimes I focus too hard on trying to understand, and I lose sight of what’s important. It’s important that they know I love them, that I’m here, and that I won’t step in and try to live their lives for them. I’ll let them make their own choices and decision, and I’ll try my best to hold my tongue when I’m tempted to step in and yell, “STOP!” I’ll let them learn the hard way just like I did. After all, the growth is in the struggle, isn’t it?

And that first sentence, the one about the two years? Well, that’s a topic for another time—when I figure out how to explain things that I don’t understand.

And, when I don’t understand, I’ll just love them. Because I can love them without understanding.