Gut Check

Don't leave the house without them:

Phone, wallet, keys.

Passport, social security card, birth certificate.

The tea kettle from grandma.

The crayon drawing our son made for Mother's Day.

That nice sundress he threatened to cut up.

Once I leave the house:

The door closes along with this chapter.

I won't respond to his scathingly cruel messages.

I surrender any trinkets left forgotten at the old home.

My parents' house must be made home again.

My son will ask why we're not celebrating Father's Day.

But also:

My son will finally get to take those piano lessons.

I now have help at home rather than a second child to worry about.

I never have to look at holes in the wall again.

I will find someone who loves me fiercely yet gently.

For once, I can write our next chapter.