I bought a lottery ticket. My oldest daughter lost her job some weeks ago. These two facts are not unrelated.

I don’t think I will win a big prize. But you never know. My neighbour won a million a couple of years ago. That amount would help.

My daughter is a single parent to two girls. She lives in one of the more expensive places to live across Canada and she can’t move away because her ex-husband lives there and they share custody. So her options are more limited than they might be.

It’s a frightening world when you get unexpectedly and abruptly tossed aside by your employer and your job is what pays the rent and fuels your life and your kid’s future. It wasn’t “personal”; her entire team was let go. Somewhere down the line I suppose they didn’t think they could afford to pay these folks to do the things they were doing.

Watching your grown-up kids struggle with big problems like this is very hard. It’s what my husband calls a balloon-popping episode. Just like when a toddler has one and it suddenly breaks and they burst into tears. And what if you have no more balloons in the house?

My husband has used this analogy for all sorts of things that happened in our kid’s lives. Losing a baseball tournament, a bad breakup with a boyfriend/girlfriend, failing a test, crashing the car. So many times when they have had heartbreaking moments. Even if as a parent you know the tragedy is not as dark as they think it is you feel their pain.

Every stage of parenting seems hard. A newborn is this tiny dependent thing that needs you to interpret its requirements based on its cries. Parents soon learn to figure out what they mean. Those infants that we love down to each miniature toe are so completely helpless.

Then there are toddlers. They are often hell-bent on self-destruction with no idea they can kill themselves by the poor decision-making they eke out during an average day. No idea that cars, deep water, or even a piece of illicit popcorn could kill. They require your vigilance to stop them from hurling themselves down flights of stairs or even off the edge of the couch.

Preschoolers are slightly improved. They are starting to grasp the potential for death or dismemberment that lurks outside the confines of their home. Or sometimes within it depending on the kinds of power tools or fire-starting potential that abides there. But they are on the way towards some ability to make better decisions.

School-age kids are even more advanced. They can usually ride the school bus, make their own lunch, or walk to a buddy’s house depending on the distance and the quality of the friendship. There are times when you can let go just a little of the constant stream of terror you have lived in.

Teenagers are the beginning of deja vu all over again. The one that you experienced with the newborn or the toddler. Wondering if they can make good choices. Waiting up late at night to make sure they came in on time. Checking if they smell like alcohol or worse. Hoping they don’t get in a car crash or picked up by a madman who loves to torture people. Dreading the calls from school to say they are suspended for skipping class or smoking pot in the school bathroom.

Wishing they could decide what to do with their life even though it truly doesn’t matter if they are unsure at seventeen. And hoping that they don’t go to another city with forged ID and get a tattoo they might regret.

Then if you are lucky they burst through to adulthood having survived all of the above. They get a job or go to college, travel the world, find a desirable partner or all of these. Seem happy and contented, call you to tell you they love you once in a while. Turn up for family dinners at least sometimes and rarely ask you for money.

But it is never that simple. I lost one last year to the toxic drug supply. A boy I loved and who loved us back. Who had bad years but had made it through them to find joy in the simple things in life but who unfortunately never lost completely the desire for what drugs did for him.

This is the worst that can happen. Death is what we all fear. It’s what we’ve worked so hard to avoid for all of their life. Keeping them alive is the minimum we can do.

But it’s not the only thing that can break our hearts as we parent our children.

It’s every balloon that bursts; every relationship they lose, the jobs they aspire to, and struggles with their own children. Watching your offspring grow into adults knowing that the problems are no longer ones you can fix is very difficult.

Winning the lottery would solve a couple of my kid’s problems. But it’s not a realistic solution. I’m not waiting for it anymore than the lightning bolt I’m not likely to get struck by.

I can be present in their problems. Worry a little. Answer the phone, tell them they are loved and that I wish the world was more fair. I can say I hope the new job turns up sooner rather than later. That they don’t lose their house, their faith in the world, the joy that life brings us.

It’s all we can do at the end of the day. Be there. With a new balloon and when that’s not possible, love is the gift we have left.

This article was originally published at Medium. Republished with permission from the author.