There was a time when I wrote a piece about Blake entitled “When” and then it became too personal to share. And I knew that I had written a happy letter to him that I hoped he would treasure forever. And I realized that when I write these prompts, I try to let go of my inhibitions and not be tethered to what other people will think about my writing. But I feel like I can only let go if I don’t plan on publishing them. Because there is something about writing and knowing people will read it and not putting every bit of honest and true feelings into it. That is what a journal is for. But I realize that I need to journal more. I need to spill my guts to the paper and let the paper carry my secrets (to the grave, hopefully). My mom has kept journals for 20 years and guess who claimed them in her will, yes, me. I will read them and I will not judge her, but I will be grateful for this well kept history of her life. Sometimes I think we don’t truly know our parents until we are older, and even then, they are still our parents. We are still the children. There are a lot of things my kids don’t know about me. My fears, my feelings because sometimes, they just don’t need to know. I hope that one day, when I am gone, they will look back on my writings and catch a glimpse of a different person. Of a human person! One with fears and joys. And maybe I will just share with them all of my writings a little bit at a time, so they will know me in the here and now.
Disclaimer: My mom told us to “request” stuff from her so we don’t fight over her deathbed. As if!
Also, you don’t have to read us all your journals, mom. Just the good stuff.
My mom and dad