On My Way Home

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My adoptive mom has informed me that she wants me to write an autobiography. I've had no thought about doing anything about the road I've traveled through life. There are many layers that have to be peeled away to do it. The odd thing about her request is that I recently spent time talking to a therapist. She comes to the nursing home every two weeks. Somehow I fell through the cracks and then speaking about the things that have fractured my soul with the social worker. She said everyone with serious issues see a therapist, so sh set it up for me. Anyway, dredging up scenes and experiences of my life from three years old and up to adulthood is going to be me uncovering the road I discovered while on my way home. Home is a metaphor for my road to heaven. I'm 68 years old. This will be the last thing I ever Wright. I told my mama that I didn't have enough brain left to write a book. She said I did and I could take my time writing as I recall the things that I lived through, and how God helped to mold me into the person I am now. I'm just a resident in a nursing home. If I finish it, and if it's good, it will be God speaking through me. It's not going to be preachy. It's just going to be about the struggles, pain, and happiness that constitutes my life.