I Don't Know Why I Have to Cry Sometimes

A seminal question roused me from several days of writing inertia.  Typically,  only a  day separates one piece from the next.  At other times, laziness, plain laziness, may paralyze me for two days at the most.  But there it was; almost a week had elapsed and nothing...nothing. Like a lightning bolt, the thought flashed off and on. When was the last time I laughed? Really laughed.  Not a polite sound that mimics mirth. A chuckle? Giggle? Guffaw? None of them, certainly no laughing until my sides hurt.  Hmm.

Has it been longer than a year? Two years? Yes and yes.  Of course, I knew the "why" of the laughter famine.    I'd grown accustomed to wearing the somber face of grief.  Not consciously, of course.  Evidently,  the grimace that contorted my face following Courtney's death had settled into grimness  Somber.   Glum.  Humorless.  Yet, I didn't carry vivacious expressions on my face while growing up.  In fact, people would often tell me that I appeared so serious, so lacking in personality.

With a  shrug, I learned to say, "Well, you'll have to blame my mama and daddy.  I must have gotten it from them."  Which wasn't true.  Daddy always smiled, always had an engaging anecdote and welcoming smile.  Mother was more reserved, but that could've come from keeping tabs on seven children.  It's not that she never smiled; she did.  I cherish pictures of her holding a  grandbaby or in family photos.  Maybe, I was just the serious, seventh child.

Not really.  It wasn't that life was SERIOUS. ALL. THE. TIME.  More than anything, books cocooned me.  I loved them from the time I learned to read. I lived in a neighborhood that boasted an Italian Deli on one corner and a mobile library at the other end.  I would choose the Library,  even over the Deli, and check out as many books as my arms could carry.  One librarian, who evidently appreciated my love for reading, told me that she wouldn't limit the number of books I could check out.  Wow!  The next time I went to the library, and subsequently, I brought a shopping bag and walked home with my bounty.  Heavens!

To say that Courtney's death upended my life understates the tumult.  She had the sense of humor that had eluded me and like her Grandpop, never met a stranger.  While soft-spoken, she was no pushover.  Championing the underdog, CoCo worked in nonprofits that served HIV-AIDS patients before she became a Middle School teacher.  She loved teaching, guiding students, counseling and nurturing them.  They returned her love and acceptance with gusto!

Her sudden death on April 9, 2017, devastated a diverse community.  It almost took me under.  Writing this blog has saved me; yet, I am far from healed! A rollercoaster describes the ride I neither wanted nor sought.  I still find it most difficult to accept.  When I don't write two or three times a week, I'm wrestling with feelings that bear no name, that can't fit neatly in a well-ordered life.  I've learned to find solace in songs first heard in my parents' church, like:

"I've seen the lightning flashing And heard the thunder roll, I've felt sins breakers dashing, Which tried to conquer my soul; I've heard the voice of my Savior, He bids me still to fight on---He promised never to leave me, Never to leave me alone."  

and

"What a Friend we have in Jesus, All our sins and grief to bear! What a privilege to carry Ev'ry-thing to God in prayer. O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear,  All because we do not carry  Ev'ry-thing to God in prayer."

Praise God! Thank You!