For years I toyed with the idea of writing, not only about my life and its many twists and turns, but also about my family. As I said, I toyed with it, never sure that it would be received well by my children and my surviving relatives. There's a reason I'm struggling with the idea; my two oldest children grew up thinking that the things my mother said about me were true, and now that she is gone, passed on to wherever it is we go when we die, the things I'd disclose ... the truths that were ignored or just twisted for whatever reason my mother had ... may dig up old wounds and feelings of betrayal. I don't want this. Still, I can't help but think that, perhaps, it may clarify things as well.
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