I woke up today and knew it was going to be one of those days — antsy, hopeless, the days you hope the crying comes sooner rather than later so you can just get on with it.
But I hadn’t cried in ages.
Not since the day before my uncle died on Oct. 16. Didn’t cry at the viewing. Didn’t cry at the funeral. Didn’t cry when I spoke. Not like the kid in the meme, holding back a flood, or like a pipe trying not to burst. I was begging myself to cry, to “process” this the “right” way.