Be Not Proud

I’m just a very, very emotional person. Abnormally so. Have been all my life. It’s good for piano playing, sometimes for poetry writing, but not so good for keeping a clear perspective about things, not for seeing things calmly and in proportion.

All is well so far with my sister and husband (see previous blog). They did the drive to Stsnford U. through a driving rain, and they are happy with their 2-night quarters. My sister’s little description of the place — she used the word cozy and talked about a lounge where they read and watched TV — brought me to tears. I weep and weep.

I hate the day ahead where I will lose them. I can’t stop crying. This must be the sadness about losing my father as a child, the sadness I had no words for and had no place to cry aloud or person to cry with. It’s called transference. You all know the term.

Oh, thankfully, there are also times I do see things clearly and in perspective.
No doubt after this cry, I will again. I know death is a part of life. I know it’s hard but that we survive the death of those we love. But it all went so fast, you know? Not anywhere enough sharing of happy times or experiencing each other’s love. Not nearly enough to look back on, to hold onto.

I emailed back. I just said I love them. They have no need of my tears. They don’t feel sorry for themselves one bit. And I do feel better now.

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