She always tucked me in and kissed me on the forehead. When she came into my room that night, I petulantly turned my back on her. I couldn’t see her face but I know she smiled because she always smiled at her daughter, the temperamental 12-year-old, when she could have–should have–scowled. All I wanted to do was go to Melissa’s house after school the next day; it seemed like such a simple request. But she wouldn’t budge.
“You’re always so mean to me!! I want to go live with dad, instead!”
I slammed the door to my room and pouted under the covers. Turning my back on her meant that it was through those angry eyes that I last saw my mom alive. The next morning she was gone, still on our kitchen floor, suddenly and without warning. Telling her I wanted to live with my dad instead of her were the last words that she ever heard from me. I got my wish and I think about it every day. I know I was too young to understand then and I didn’t mean anything by those words. Mother and daughter, we quarreled all the time because she had the audacity to expect me to follow her rules.
I think we argue more, and use harsh words more, to those we love precisely because of that love. Passion is a product of caring; indifference would beget cold shrugs of the shoulders and silence. I know it has been said before, but it’s so true. Reconcile when you are given the chance. Don’t regret passing on the opportunity to make up because you may never get the opportunity again.