My mother said the worst possible thing she could ever say to me but I am not angry. I wish I could say I was but I’m not. I’m terribly sad for her, though. I’m sad because she grew old cynical and bitter. I’m sad because she grew old never knowing the true meaning of being a mother. I hope she realizes that before it’s too late.

I take comfort in my loneliness and pain because it means I can still feel something other than hate. I’m comforted to know I’m not like my mother and that’s the highest compliment one can say to me.