Tonight my husband and I were exchanging bits of news and happenings from our lives. I started telling him about “Grey’s Anatomy.” He used to watch it, but doesn’t anymore. I still watch it because I work from my living room every night until midnight and the television keeps me company. He gets up very early these days, so he goes to sleep early.
I started describing the ending scene and to my utter horror, fell apart. I snatched a tissue, but thankfully, the tears did not fall. I could have collapsed into the “ugly cry” but instead I took several deep breaths to compose myself. I was so keenly aware that these aren’t even real people, that this is just fiction, but I couldn’t help it. (I won’t tell you what happened, exactly, but it was sad.)
Tonight, I watched most of the Farrah Fawcett special about her struggle with anal cancer. I cried. A lot.
Last Sunday (Mother’s Day!) I cried when my kids wouldn’t be nice to each other and me. My teenage son, the one who caused me the most distress, had been performing a dramatic monologue, waving his arms with theatrical flair, demonstrating his vast vocabulary and said, “WHAT? WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?” And without intending to do so, I burst into tears. He stopped, stared at me, then walked straight toward me, stooped down and hugged me.
At that point, of course, I cried more, but I also congratulated myself on raising a boy who responds to female tears with a hug, not words or defenses. It was actually very sweet.
I cannot seem to stop crying at the most inopportune times. I cry while watching “Survivor.” I wept during “The Amazing Race.” I’m tearing up just writing this about how much I cry.
I know it’s hormonal. I think it has something to do with age. Most of my life I have had easy access to a deep well of sadness. Loss will dig that well in your heart. I’m not sure you can ever really fill it back in once it’s been dug–and I don’t think I’d ever want to. That’s the melancholy speaking in me.
I’m thinking I could hire myself out to cry for people who don’t have time or inclination to cry for themselves. I am turning into a quite excellent crybaby.
But it does kind of make my head hurt.