It’s My Party, and I’ll Cry if I Want To

I can’t stop crying, people.

And it is NOT pretty.

I think I’ve mentioned before that when I read descriptions in books about people who cry I just want to rip the page right out of the book.  Because invariably when someone in a book cries, their alabaster skin doesn’t turn blotchy, their radiant eyes are hardly dimmed by the tears (much less made bloodshot) and their perky noses rarely even drip, much less get so plugged up they can barely breathe. 

I was never an Oprah watcher (just never remembered) but I did read & watch a bit when her show was ending.  I loved one of the things I read—that she said she and her audience had cried “the ugly cry” together. 

Well I am crying the ugly cry all of the time.  It’s just under the surface, at any moment of the day or night.  At the baptism Saturday morning.  (Because I love Lindsay, and I will miss her.)  On the phone this morning.  (Because my sister Laila called to give me a pep talk for the week.)  On the phone this afternoon.  (Because Alisyn was kind enough to ask me how my day was.)  And many places in between.

 

It is not comfortable to live this way, people.  Not for me, and not for you.  So I apologize in advance to any of you who happen to ask the wrong question, make the wrong comment, or even just look in my direction.  I want you to know that I do not mean to cry all over you.  And I appreciate your patience with me, and it would perhaps be a good idea if you started carrying a box of tissues with you. 

Just in case.