As I get into the car to pull out of her driveway, my mother leans in and tells me that her lifelong collection of diary writings has her ventings and that my Dad says he'll burn them if she goes first.
She might have been a prolific blogger. But some things aren't meant for the eyes of others... or are they?
What would you do with your mom's diaries if they fell into your hands?
I'm not sure if I want to read things I don't want to know. She leans in and tells me that all she writes is not tidy. She says this with a glint in her eye as her mouth turns up in a smile.
My door slams, my car goes into reverse, my life moves forward yet again. I drive away from my past to my present.