It may be years before you can read this, and will certainly be years before it makes sense, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry for snapping at you; I'm sorry for expecting and often requiring that you adopt my priorities as your own. I'm sorry for the times I have hurt your feelings with harsh words, inattention, dismissiveness or misunderstanding that I don't take the time to repair in the moment. I'm sorry for not allowing your personalities to develop unadulterated by my own hang-ups; I'm sorry for consulting books to make sure you're not sociopaths. Despite that I can almost guarantee that I will yearly ask forgiveness for the same thing, I'm sorry for my frequent inability to nurture your psyche before I foist reason upon you. I'm sorry for the times I inadvertently embarrassed you though I will no doubt continue to do that, too. I'm sorry for the times I tried to make you be different than you are.
May you be sealed in the book of life, which I don't believe in, except in your cases (I'm sorry for my uncharacteristic inconsistencies). I will tell you abridged versions of these at bedtime, as the sun sets, and you will ask for an apple or offer a hug; your hands will repeatedly, noisily "blast off" and your fingers will walk up my nose and into my hair (I'm sorry I make no attempt at hiding how annoying I find that) while you interrupt me to talk about a new kind of car you've invented. Please forgive me for the times I've taken these scenes for granted. Thanks for sticking with me while I try to do better.