I wrote this in response to Trish’s post yesterday on Ten Years a Single on Mom about crying about a broken washing machine. I’ve done worse.
Here’s the whole sorry story. Daddy had died after sudden illness days before. I was a mess, but making a great effort to keep my emotions in check, knowing my mother was in need of my support with her world falling apart. My two small children were also grieving their beloved grandfather. I still had to get through my nursing finals. Through it all, I kept thinking, “I’ll get through this. I’ve just got to hold on for the next few days!” I had myself convinced I was coping.
The day after the funeral, on my way to take my last final, I pulled into the service station I regularly patronize because it was convenient, had good prices, and a complimentary car wash, all desirable qualities. After I filled up my vehicle, I went in to ask the friendly clerk for the code to the car wash. I didn’t really know her, but had seen her a time or two.
She told me the car wash was out of order. The dam burst! I wept. Not dainty, charming tears that would make a person say, “Here’s my hanky, Dear.” These were the big, squirty , snot-snorting tears of a deranged banshee that called for a mop bucket and towel. She was horrified at what she’d wrought. “Please don’t cry! I’ll give you a rain check!”
I never showed my face there again!