I heard my daughter fell again. Her mother, my ex, called to tell me. She said it like it was my fault, naturally. She always does. Like I could have stopped it from three states away. Like a phone call and a quick flight would have fixed anything. I mean, my daughter is 40. She lives on the coast. But it still hits me, right in the gut. That familiar helpless feeling. Like when she was a baby and she’d cry and I didn't know what to do. It’s stupid, I know. A grown woman, a marketing manager even, she can handle a fall. Her kids are grown too. But her mother is 80. And brittle. And she falls a lot. More than she lets on, I suspect. My daughter, she's always been the responsible one. The one who cleans up messes. My messes, her mother's messes, everyone’s messes. Always. It makes me feel... useless. Like a bad father, even now. Like I failed to teach her how to *not* be the one who has to fix everything. I should call her. I know I should. See how she’s doing. Offer to help. But what would I even say? "Sorry your mother keeps falling and you’re stuck dealing with it from a distance, just like I was with my own parents"? No, that won't do. I just stare at her number on my phone. And think about how much I still wish I could just… make things better for her. The way I never could. God, I’m pathetic.