Hate

They say that hate can only come from love. I don't know that that is true. Hate can be taught and brought on by fear. But if anything can be said about hate arriving from love, maybe it is that the most painful of hate comes from love.

I fear that I hate my mom. Or that I will hate her. She had an option she wouldn't consider. One that would have left her better off and us out of the equation. She could have stayed in her apartment in Grand Rapids. A place where most of her rent was paid, she had insurence though not good insurance, and some friends. Instead she said that wasn't an option. She hated the kids in her neighborhood (too noisy), she couldn't walk the stairs, and she couldn't do it anymore on her own. But I think she could have. It would have been easier for all of us. She would still have all the stuff she mourns. We could have moved to Texas earlier. I think about these things and it certainly doesn't make anything any better, but I can't stop thinking about them.

I wonder will I know if I hate my mom? Oh I am sure that at least part of me will always lover her. I know that I still love her, but what about hate?