Write this down...

I've been thinking about writing. I love to put pen to paper, or fingers to keys, and spill what I am thinking or feeling. However, I do not write half or even a quarter as much as I should. I've questioned myself "Why" several times. I think I may have come up with an answer: Writing saps me emotionally. When I finally get those phrases out of mind, and they become visible entities, there is palpable catharsis. Something I have been holding inside is let out and suddenly I feel even more vunerable than before.
I like to think I'm strong and invulnerable. Truth is, I'm far from that. Writing just reminds me. Yet it's healthy. Being vulnerable and fragile when all we want to show the world is our false strength could be the best remedy for healing.
We all have something to heal from. Writing, at least for me, opens up that festering cut that I haven't kept clean, painfully flushes it out, and then gently wraps it with gauze and antibiotic ointment. It's painful at first, but later on, I'm glad I did it.

Separation

It is a thirty-four year investment
The homemaker informs me.
Her intonation resonates
Fragile and insecure.
“Has this weekend been hard?”
I picture her tucking her blonde
Highlighted hair behind one ear.
“It comes and goes.
Moment by moment, baby.”
Her voice depresses further.
A hiccup, then an audible tear.
“Has he called you?”
Silence.
“Mom, he has made his choice.”
A sigh. “I know. I am afraid of
Being on my own. I haven’t
Worked in twenty-one years.”
“Hang in there, Mom. Try
Not to sleep in tomorrow.”
I tell her I’ll see her this weekend.
We will all be together for a few days.
Without Dad.