Cry me a river
I sit here writing to you after three Thanksgivings, a birthday, a little cold and early-stage PMS to declare: Man, am I tired. I will do my best to put sentences together, so bear with me.
I just finished watching the latest Hollmork movie. Punky does not understand why I would subject myself to that level of heart-wrenching torture. I call it the emotional purge. If I don't watch a weep-fest once every month or so, crying endlessly over the death of a fictitious person, I end up crying for twenty minutes over something like, "Why didn't I marry someone who would have left the last of the ice cream for me?"
The HM movies are really sad enough by themselves, but then you get to the commercials. HM is one of the few companies who understand that if a commercial is the same speed, volume, and look as the program they break into, people like me will probably watch it. And, in the case of HM, weep harder. The retiring professor, the kid who brings a card to his neighbor lady, the daughter who sends a card to her dad because it's the first year she can't come home for Christmas (She's probably at her in-laws dodging questions like I do).
The father-daughter ones get me in the worst ways. I'm tearing up right now. In college, dad sent a letter every week to each of his children as a way to pay back his father for writing to him. I always waited to read them in private so I wouldn't be crying in chem class. Once, he enclosed a tissue to be funny.
Happy weeping!
posted by One in a million Saras @ 11:41 PM
2 Comments:
Ssra,
How lucky you were/are to have a dad who communicated with you! I always knew I was loved but I only remember my own father really talking to me once (aside from homework help.) I was in college but living at home and going thru a bad time with my long-term boyfriend. He came in my room and said, "You have to do something about Kevin." That was the extent of any personal communication
I never doubted his love for me. He provided a good home and opportunities, was always available to "do things for me" and was an excellent role model. He was just all Finnish and an engineer. Neither one known for being expressive.
After he retired and moved to Florida I once wrote to him and expressed my insecurity about whether I was the kind of daughter he could be proud of (divorce, didn't finish college until my 40s, etc.). He wrote back a letter saying all the things I longed to hear growing up.I keep that letter next to my bed to this very day. He should have enclosed a kleenex.
p.s. Thanks for the therapy session Sara. :)
Yeah, you read my blog posting one time about how I never really was sure my Dad loved me, because he never told me so, until the morning that I left for Minnesota after my wedding day. He hugged me and told me "I love you" words that I wanted to hear all my growing up years. I would have had to wait a lot, lot longer to hear those words if I hadn't moved out of state! That was one good thing about moving from PA! I cried the whole way out of the state of Pennsylvania that day, 5 hours... and my new husband couldn't quite get why it meant so much to me...
but after hours of my crying, he finally understood! After that time, every time I went back to PA or they came here to MN he always told me he loved me! When my daughter was a teenager, I encouraged my husband to be sure to come right out and tell her "I love you". He finally started doing that, and it sure did help their relationship. Funny, how we really need to hear those three little words from our parents!
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