Everybody knows that mothers and daughters have complicated relationships.
I understand complication. Really I do. And I know I didn’t do everything right for Melody. What mother ever has done everything right?
When Melody was a teen-ager, I took her little rages and poutings in stride. Aren’t teenaged girls famous for angst and drama?
But she’s 22 now, and I thought she was over that.
It was such a surprise to find her blog today.
I know about blogs. I’m not so backward that I don’t know what a blog is, but I’m enough out of step that I don’t know anyone who writes one, and I would never think of typing my daughter’s name into Google to see what she wrote about me. Does anyone do that?
But I got an anonymous text message today. “You’d be interested in what your daughter writes on her blog,” it said. I don’t usually answer anonymous calls. But I assumed they were talking about Chloe. She’s 16, a dangerous age. Yes, she’s smart and pretty and talented and active in her church youth group, but things happen to young girls.
I was scared for her, scared to the point that my hands shook and my stomach turned over. So I typed in the web address they sent.
“I hate my mother” was the first thing I saw when I opened the page.
It didn’t take long to see that it was Melody who had written the screed. I was mean, stupid, didn’t love her, didn’t consider her.
I know women whose mothers are drug abusers, pimps, child abusers, and these women still don’t hate their mothers. I’m not perfect -- I know I’ve said that before, but you have to understand that I know it’s true -- and yet “hate.” It fills me with pain and despair.
I don’t hate Melody. I couldn’t. It makes me sad, but I’m determined to be larger than that.
So, Melody, if you ever happen to read this page, know that I love you and always will, no matter what.