I used to think that the only way to relate to gays was to confront them. I had no use for them. I didn't understand them, and I was judgmental and arrogant. And then one day our lives were changed forever.

It was about 5:15 p.m. on December 8, 1988. I had just walked into the house from work with the mail in my hand. There was a letter from my daughter, Anna. I opened it with the pleasure of anticipation that a mom feels when she hears from her daughter who is away at college. Her letter was dated December 4, 1988. She told me that lots had happened in her life with regard to her sexuality. She said she had fought long and hard to be comfortable and now she was. She said she was comfortable with women.

She went on to say she loved me and hoped I wouldn't try to change her. She said she loved God and knew He loved her.

On December 20, 1988, I answered her letter and told her I was devastated by what she had written. Please allow me to quote one paragraph from my letter to Anna:

Almost a year later, August 13, 1989, I was taking Anna back to the airport to go back to college after she played the piano for her cousin's wedding. I told her that IF she ever decided she wanted to get her act together, she was welcome to come home.

What followed were more than 8 stormy years, at best. We had a few good times, but not many.

In mid-August 1996, I received a letter from Anna. She basically said she wanted nothing more to do with me. She said that I was her mother biologically only, that I had stolen her childhood from her, and that I had done colossal damage to her soul with my shaming words. She did not want me in her life, not then, maybe not ever. She told me she did not want to, and did not have to forgive me.

I sought advice from a counselor, several friends and family members. To a person, all said the same thing: You must respect Anna's wishes and give her the space she needs. And that's what I did.

I keep wondering what would have happened if, after receiving her letter, I had grabbed my toothbrush, credit card and car keys, driven the 550 miles to where she was living and told her that I loved her no matter what. I didn't do that. The worst part is that I'll never be able to do that.

On February 28, 1997 at 10:00 p.m., I received a phone call from my ex-husband and Anna's Dad. At about 4:00 p.m. that afternoon, Anna had been found hanging from the bar in her closet. She had been dead for 15 hours. It was ruled a suicide by the coroner -- no autopsy, no note, no nothing -- but days, weeks, months and years of pain and anguish.

I have heard it said that when a loved one dies of suicide, there is a sense of utter failure. I can identify with that. I did not love her unconditionally, even though I knew 1 Corinthians 13 well. Among other things it says, Love is patient...and kind; Love is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs...It always protects, always hopes, always perseveres.