Long Way Home

I've always been an overly emotional person. My sister claims it has something to do with our repressed childhood. But whatever the reason, I cry at the drop of a hat. When I left my first job of 2.5 years, I asked my manager to mislead my coworkers by announcing a later last day, so that I could slip out without having to tearfully face my office family for the last time. Shoot, I cried leaving a 2.5 month internship my sophomore year of college! But my sensitivity does have some practical implications. The bucket-o-tears meter is the gauge I use to determine whether or not a movie is worth my ten bucks. Who needs Ebert and Roeper when you have your own internal movie critic? I put a shout out to Kleenex for making tissues soft enough to spare my nose from unnecessary chafing; I think they should send me a lifetime achievement award for my overactive tear ducts.

I wish my next trial were as simple as draining a box of tissues. There are really no words that can adequately describe the experience of losing your best friend. I have felt the feelings of loss before and the flashes of memories that you swear happened just yesterday. There are even twinges of regret, for the times you could have spent talking about heartfelt dreams instead of watching another bad rental that we had to finish to get our $2 worth. But it has never been so severe that it would cause me to throw up while brushing my teeth. I suppose my body had to step up the physiological response, since the crying reflex went into overdrive. But all the adjectives and adverbs cannot begin to tell the story of trauma that is placed on your heart. If you know and can relate, then I sincerely apologize. This morning I heard the story of a father who fell asleep on his 10 week old baby, smothering him to death. No longer do I have to pretend to imagine what another person in mourning feels. Perhaps I should just be grateful for the short time on this earth that I shared with my friend. But you know what, I am just not ready to.