Good Luck and Goodbye.

Great timing, Pauline. If I had been writing it as the climax of a novel it couldn’t have been better executed. Bide your time while showing more and more disdain for your daughter and her choices. But wait, wait until the time is exactly right before playing your ace. The graduates are all seated. The music has stopped and the dean of the college has risen to introduce the commencement speakers. Now. This is the moment to announce that you are leaving. You “just can’t take it” any longer. You hide behind dark glasses, though when you remove them your eyes look suspiciously dry. Then, instead of actually leaving, you hang out in the restroom three steps from our seats. You were easy to find. I imagine it was stupid of me to try, but I sometimes miss the obvious. I ask you to stay, still not getting it. You use the moment to deride your child, say horrible things about her that we both know are not true. How can you pretend they are? I don’t know why I thought you would want advice. When I try to give it you sarcastically tell me I must be “the perfect mother.” I realize it is a lost cause – that you are a lost cause and I leave. I don’t know how you will get back, but when we arrive your car is gone. No one misses you. Your daughter asks if she can finally cut the last string. I used to be your cheerleader. I kept thinking your daughter would be sorry if she cut you off completely. How foolish I was. She is the wise one. She had years to judge your character. I should have listened to her. She is changing her cell phone number and canceling the email account you use to contact her. I will not take your calls or your email. You have two more daughters to raise. Good luck with that, Pauline. I hope they find someone who will help them cut the string when the time comes.