The dead are worthy of tears.

Every year they are gone, you think on the anniversary - you think, "How has it been another year." You know it is a question, but you think it like a statement. Facing the idea of death and the reality of death, you know you are dealing with a statement in the end, at the End. You know you cannot change things.

Time blurs and you wonder if you can really remember the person anymore. There are memories, but the memories are only snapshots. Playing them over and over can only reinforce those bits and pieces; and then this person who was a force in your life, a dynamic reality as you are, is just anecdotes and photos. Their impact is now anecdotes and photos and aftershocks.

And crying at anniversaries when the aftershock hits. At Mother's Day, at birthdays, at graduations. At the televising of snowboarding events. Hell, even in the grocery store for no damn good reason.* But it's still worth it to cry about. If it makes it easier, knock a carton of milk off the shelf and tell anyone who asks that you are actually in factually crying over spilt milk.**

Think of crying as pouring one out for your homies, only through your eyes.*** ^


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*And still the wave of creepy old dudes advances.
**If they laugh, give them your number. If they're freaked out, comfort yourself with the knowledge that you are an off-kilter situation comedy genius. You don't need to be with someone who wouldn't at least give that an eyeroll and a groan-laugh. What a lame-ass time you would have together.
***Man, we need to revisit that superpowers debate, only with lame stuff like, would you rather cry Grey Goose or sweat aluminum. Would you rather have scales on your back or a permanent face-pimple. Would you rather be better at forgiving or at forgetting. This American Life and everyone's grandmother's dog has covered the flight v. invisibility debate; let's lower the stakes.
^It occurs to me that this is all very Dune, a book I finally read once in the later years of college and am really not all that into.

BONUS: I read the first part of someone's away message: "mom's leftovers wit..." and thought of ashes in a sweet, cherry wood box with engraving on the front. Of course, turns out it was about sharing a home-cooked meal with a friend.