Warning: a bit of self-therapy in this post. No knitting, sewing, crocheting. Just me and life.
Would someone please tell me why it took me so long to read The Divine secrets of the ya-ya sisterhood? I'm reading and laughing and crying and am so loving it.
Maybe I like it so much because of the mother/daughter relationship? Maybe because I'm mourning my own mom, and this resonates so well with me? I certainly didn't have the Ya-Ya kind of mom/daughter relationship with my mom. We got along very very well, even when we were fighting and sniping. Hey, I probably drove her bats, and she made me yell and scream. So? We loved each other, and we had mini-battles, and I never won any of them. I miss our little fights. I miss her love. I want her back.
Oh, dear, this is getting maudlin. Sorry, folks. Sometimes my blog acts as a sort of diary. Very therapeutic. I don't like to cry. Taught myself not to many many years ago in another life. Well, it worked well then, now, not so much. So I read a chapter or two, and then find myself crying for a few seconds. Read a little more, laugh a lot. Then cry, then laugh. Ah, this mourning process is far harder than I ever imagined. I thought I knew how much I would miss her. Hah! Didn't even touch the surface.
I didn't cry all that much right after she died. I was expecting it, and intellectualizing the process. That's how I got through the first month. Now, no analyzing, just emotion that pours out of me all day long.
So, I just read about Genevieve's death and Jack's death, and I'm crying again and again. Maybe I was meant to read this book right now. I think so.