G is for Good Daughter

Which, I must confess, I am sometimes ... not.

I managed to upset my mother today. This is not something that happens terribly often anymore. We're close, as in "finish each other's sentences, long road trips in the car, generally just enjoy one another's company" close. We talk every day -- online, or by the phone, or sometimes both. My mom is my best friend.

But she's also my mom.

I've noticed that many people are careless with their treatment of their families because -- well, they're stuck with you, right? They HAVE to forgive you. Even if you're mean, or rude, or sarcastic and hurtful and careless. They'll keep coming back around because you're tied together with the invisible ropes of shared history and blood, which are more flexible and more binding than any other force on earth. So we fight and we disappoint and we hurt.

And we accept and we love and we nurture.

My mother is innately kind (with an unexpectedly sarcastic sense of humour). I do not think that I am innately kind. I am innately impatient and driven. This sometimes causes me to mow down kindness with thoughtlessness.

If there is a worse sensation on this earth than that of knowing I've hurt my mother's feelings, I don't know what it is.

Sometimes I am a good daughter. Clearly, not today.