You may not get a choice. However, your mother died on that bridge a long time ago. Whatever this apparition has to say is unlikely to be what your actual mother would.

[He made a point of eating slowly between the conversation now that it had turned to the subject that he expected she needed to talk about. He still regarded over from across their tiny little table, setting his fork down on the edge of his plate a moment later.]

If you don't remember much of her, why would you assume she would hate you? You survived; you thrived; you brought about the revolution she gave her life for.