She Loves Me...She Loves Me Not

She Loves Me...She Loves Me Not
By: Cheryl L. Dieter Copyright 7/26/2005

I stare at my new daughter’s chubby cheeks and beautiful brown eyes laden with sleep. Everything is perfect in our relationship. I love her and she loves me. End of story. There is no happy ending that could make life better than it is right now. As I watch her breath in and out so effortlessly, I shed a tear knowing that in the not so distant future it is doubtful that anything will be quite this easy between us again. How do I know this? Easy. My eldest daughter is fourteen.

Fourteen is a terrible age. Not quite old enough to “know better” but just old enough to get in trouble for what you do know. While still the center of my universe, I am but a distant line in hers. And like a line drawn in the sand that constantly shifts with gusts and wisps of wind, everyday my daughter and I tiptoe back and forth across that line of independence vs. dependence, me vs. them, and love vs. hate. An almost grown up version of She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not that we once played together just a few short years ago with the white daisies and red roses grown in our own backyard.

She Loves Me... “thanks Mom for taking me to the mall.”
She Loves Me Not...I make her clean her room.
She Loves Me... “Come on Mom. I mean, I share more about my life with you than most teenagers.”
She Loves Me Not... “Why can’t you just leave me alone,” she yells as she slams the door to her room for yet another time.

As I see it, everyday my daughter and I start out with a fresh flower from an old plant. Sometimes the petals seem to fall off by themselves whereas others it takes days for the bloom to disappear. Some days the petals are plucked and thrown with a vengeance and someday they are removed gently and placed lovingly in a book to be preserved and examined on another day. But even on those mornings when the blossoms are gone before the first cup of coffee is steamed all is not lost. For although the petals are the most beautiful and dazzling thing about the flower, there is so much more to the plant than that. While the center is still young and vibrant and holds the seeds that offer new beginnings and hope; the stem, older and more sturdy, holds the newer parts of the flower aloft. And the roots, well, they provide nourishment to both the old and new parts combined.

This morning the flower was bare by eight but as I bent down to inspect the last petal that landed at my feet, I knew that all was still well. For the plant from which this flower came still continues to grow, blossom and mature just like my relationship with my daughter. And the seeds still continue to be spread and planted for some as yet unknown day in the future. But most of all when the last petal fell... She Loved Me...at least for now.