Never Got To Say Sorry - A Monologue

Fighting with my mom when I was growing up was about as frequent as a bus coming to a stop. We just didn’t see eye to eye on most things. She hated the music I listened to and the clothes I wore; I hated the rules she gave me and my ten o’clock curfew. Typical teenage battles with their parents; I know now that she was just looking out for me. Although we fought all the time, I still loved her, and I know that she loved me too. I remember when I was little; how we used to talk and were friends…I miss that so much now. I remember one Monday morning like it was yesterday, though half a decade has passed. "Madison, time to get up," she called for me. I got up slowly and put on the new dress I had bought over the weekend at the mall with my friends. To say the least, it was much too revealing for school, but I didn’t care. The minute I walked into the kitchen where she was, my mom’s eyes popped out of their sockets and her jaw dropped down to the floor, I could see the anger rising up in her. "You’re not going out of the house like that! You look cheap!" She didn’t like my dress as much as I did. We argued fiercely for 10 minutes before I relented and went to change angrily. I came back down stairs dressed in my favorite tee shirt and jeans. "See, you look lovely now," she commented with a smile of satisfaction. "No I don’t I hate these clothes!" I yelled at her as I got an apple from the fridge. "But that’s your favorite shirt! It’s brand new!" she argued. It was true, I loved the clothes but I was not about to let her win. "So what?! I hate it! And I hate you!" I had never said that to her before and my mom’s face dropped. I didn’t mean it but instead of saying sorry I ran to my room to get my backpack. I gathered my things hurriedly, as I was going to be late for school. Heading out the door my mom tried to give me a kiss on the cheek goodbye, but I dodged it and moved past her. "I love you," she called after me, but it was too late; I had already crossed the street. Later that day, I’ll never forget the time; 1:46, my math teacher got a call from the office. When he turned back to the class his face was solemn. "Madison, please go to the office, your father is waiting for you." When I got there I asked him what was wrong. "There has been an accident," he choked out. There were tears in his eyes; I had never seen him cry before. "Who was in it?" I asked, afraid to know the answer. "Mom," he said. "Is she alright?" I asked, but I already knew the answer. To this day it haunts me to think that the last words I ever said to my mother were "I hate you", even though I didn’t. Did she know I loved her? I ask myself everyday. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could have just let her kiss me or said "I love you" back. But it’s too late now. If I could give just one piece of advice to anybody, it would be to never let a loved one think even for a second that you didn’t love them, because you may not get another chance to say you’re sorry.