Skip to main content

Almost

Yesterday, after a day and a little more away from home, my son and daughter returned.  Soon after, my son asked for a rice cake, something that was well within his reach, Since I was busy doing something else, I suggested he get it himself.  With that, he burst into tears.  With a little cuddling and probing, he shared a minor mix up that had made him "almost" cry before, but he had held it back because he wasn't with us.  I asked him if he had almost cried any other times in the past 24 hours.  He told me about two other times when he was faced with some minor injustice, i.e. his hot dog got cut up, not left whole, and his sister got a seat he wanted.  Then I turned to my daughter. She "almost" cried when March Break was over.
I told them I "almost" cried the day before, during a presentation I was part of delivering on mental health.

My thoughts turned back to learning about Crying Debt from my son.  For some, they feel the need to immediately cash out and get the debt paid off by crying right away, as soon as humanely possible. For others, the debt either does not accumulate, it is paid off in other ways, or it silently compounds over the years.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Small Craft

I accompanied my mother-in-law to an appointment this week. On the paper, preparing her for the appointment, it invited her bring along something to read or a small craft. As soon as I heard about this invitation to bring a small craft into an otherwise austere waiting area, my mind started to do bouncing somersaults in many different directions. Googly eyes? Glue gun? Feathers? Play clay? Friendship braclets?

Bringing her back

 As the first anniversary finally passed, I exhaled.  The sadness still nibbled away at the edges, but not clawing deep into my chest like it had been with varying degrees of ferocity in the twelve months previously.  She died in early summer, so I plunged into ocean and lakes and ate fruit straight from the plant.  The grief became softer, the folk songs carried me along in the potato patch we planted in therapy. But then, I started to miss her.  The deep grief kept her so close and now as the pressure eased, so did her presence.  I held my breath and decided to be really sad this morning just to see her face.  To sit in her prescence.  My breath became jagged as I cried for her, for us.   This Taylor Swift cover  by Marc Maron broke me right open this morning.  Here's to staying broken open enough to keep your loved ones close. And then, I walked into her garden. The garden she envisionied, planted over and over and still pre...

The words coming out of my mouth

  These days I wear a mask. I don't wear a mask all of the time, only when I am indoors or unavoidably up close with people who I don't usually interact with.  I wear one when I am ordering things, or buying things or attempting to enjoy some form of public entertainment.  I cannot rely on reading others lips. My lips are hidden. We ask each other to repeat.  We move our eyes or our whole heads to try and enunciate more clearly.  I say fewer words, more carefully chosen words behind the mask. Sometimes that is helpful, sometimes that just causes more confusion. I walked into the woods. I did not need a mask.  I only saw a few other people and they were distanced. Masks were unnecessary. After so much talking and not talking and avoiding talking out loud I am forced to examine when I speak and when I choose not to. This is not a bad thing since I can be an insufferable chatter box, just a new thing for my brain to adjust itself to. When I am not standing aro...