I cry too much...

(or Better Mourning through Chemistry)

I cry easily and often. Certainly over the morning comics--who doesn't? For Better or Worse and Funky Winkerbean rival any soap opera or Greek tragedy for tear jerk potential. I cry when small children sing more or less in unison, I cry when other people cry, and, most distressingly, I cry when I'm mad.

Now don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with crying (cut to "It's alright to cry" from Marlo Thomas's "Free to Be You and Me" album which, incidentally, is a song that also makes me cry). But sometimes, crying gets in the way of effectively doing that which you want to do. Years ago, I wrote a eulogy for my Dad's memorial service, and I couldn't get through one word of it due to tears so my good friend Janice read it for me.

Last week, I threw a marvelous memorial service for my Mom, complete with a sing-along hootenanny of old favorites like "Down in the Valley" and "You are My Sunshine." I wanted to sing along and, more than anything, I wanted to speak my good-bye piece to Mom and tell her friends about the wonderful times she and I shared even up until the last week of her life.

Prior to the service, I took a little bit of Paxil (an older antidepressant/anti-anxiety drug) and a little bit of propranolol (a beta-blocker that stops some of the adrenalin outflow from the sympathethic nervous system that sets off the heart-pounding, shaky body feeling like when you battle a saber-toothed tiger or say good-bye to your mother). I wasn't tranquilized, I was still awash in emotion, but I was NOT awash in tears. I sang my songs (and I am not generally one to sing in front of a crowd) and I said my piece. It was wonderful.

I cried like mad the next day.