Cryin'

I walked into the house, and I called out for my mother. Her response was so slight that I didn't hear it until I had walked through the kitchen and set foot on the stairwell. Even then, it took me a moment to realize that she was in the den, downstairs.

The room was dark, and she was motionless on the loveseat recliner, the quiet even more unsettling given her usual exuberance when I come to visit. I gave her a kiss and a hug, settling into the other half of the seat. I had been afraid something like this might be waiting for me, as her voice on the phone had sounded wan.

Translated from the original Spanish:

G: What's the matter?
M: ... (begins to cry)
G: Did something happen?
M: (head shake) No.
G: Is it just sadness?
M: Yes, I'm full of sadness.
G: Me, too.

At this point, we curled up next to each other and settled into a good cry, neither of us needing to explain any further where from or why this sadness had struck, only silently understanding that we needed to shed the tears to help wash away the bitterness for a time, whatever the source.

After a bit, it came to my attention that there was no food readily available for dinner. No problem, let's order Chinese. The hold music was some kind of big band era swing, and so we held the phone up where we could both listen to it and danced, and laughed.

It's both thanks to my mother that it's never seemed too abnormal to swing so drastically from sadness to joy, and her fault that I've gone through life without really learning how to express the reasons for those changes from one way to another. Sometimes, you just need to cry your way back to being happy. At least, for a bit.