I didn’t cry ugly hard when my mom died. People say I’m strong and I am. I did cry appropriately, but then I dried my tears, washed my face and went on with life. Until several months later, when a friend asked me to pick her up at the airport. Happy as can be, I drove to the airport and as I rounded the “Arrival” bend, my friend was standing there smiling and waving, right where my mom used to stand when I used to pick her up. And all of the sudden, all the grief, all the memories, and all the tears came rushing over me and there I sat, ugly crying right in the middle of DFW Airport. Apparently my rock solid exterior had sprung a leak.

So today I had to go the the high school to pick up my youngest daughter’s Senior Class of 2020 yard sign, and as I rounded the corner toward the field house, as I have 1,000 times before…bam, here it comes again.
This grief is not near as bad of course. But it is there, nonetheless, and today it came at me out of nowhere. And there I sat, once again, in a puddle. 

Grief is funny. You can’t anticipate it. You can’t control it. You can’t plan around it and you sure can’t stop it. You may not even be able to explain it. I guess we all have cracks. Maybe our cracks are like weep holes, the cracks bricklayers leave to allow for expanding and settling. So I guess we just let it out, allow ourselves settle in and go with it.

Because life goes on.


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