I’m not a crier. I was when I was a kid. Then somehow I “grew out of it.” I’m sure it doesn’t make me better or worse than people who cry a lot, but that’s the deal with me. This week, however, had been rough. To wit:
Things That Almost Made Me Cry This Week, And Things That Didn’t
Things That Didn’t Make Me Cry:
- Finding out my mom’s lung cancer had metastasized to her brain.
- Hearing the surgeon tell us that if we hadn’t caught the biggest tumor she’d have been dead in three weeks.
- Waiting to hear whether she made it through each of her two brain surgeries.
- Watching her struggle to remember her name, her birthdate, the year, names of animals beyond “cat” and “dog.”
- The look that came over her face right before her first surgery while she struggled to comprehend what was happening to her, did for a brief moment, then lost that comprehension in the recesses of her brain.
Things That Almost Made Me Cry:
- The waitress at a restaurant in Chicago giving me a mean look after I asked if our food was almost ready.
- When I was walking into the hospital on the fifth day here and my underwear was riding up and my shirt was riding up and I had a hair in my face that I couldn’t get.
- The incessant player piano you could hear from the surgery waiting area that played pop songs, including Justin Bieber’s “Baby” and “Hey, Soul Sister.”
- An email from a colleague that read “if our personalities are inherited or molded by our parents, then I can only assume she’s a tough cookie who will handle this with grace.”
And The One Thing That Actually Made Me Cry…A Few Tears…Briefly:
- The waiter at the Mexican restaurant I ate at with my husband the night before I left for Chicago handing me a worry doll and telling me that if I put it under my pillow it would take away all my worries.