Big girls sometimes do cry

Meltdowns are a pretty common occurance around here, although I'm pretty good at masking them behind a good cryer of a chick-flick. When I feel a melt down coming on, "PS I love You" is a good one to turn too, since it's pretty much instantaneous and lasts a good 90 minutes. By the time the movie is over, I feel refreshed, renewed somehow. Whereas "A Walk to Remember" only gives you 15 minutes of crying time at the end. The problem with that is, even when the movie is over, I'm still crying and have a hard time stopping, because I haven't gotten it out of my system yet.

That's my problem, I've discovered. When I need to have a good cry, I have a hard time stopping until I've had a good cry. Now don't get too caught up in the why or what I'm crying about, because most of the time I couldn't even tell you. Sometimes a girl just needs a good cry. I hope someone out there can relate. The issue here is where and when a good cry comes on. Unfortunately for me, it hasn't always been in the privacy of my own home, where no one can see and I can freely let the tears flow.

My dear cousin had a public meltdown a little while ago, which prompted me to think back on a few of my own public meltdown humiliation moments, so I can assure her, she's not alone.

I've had several, but for her sake I'll revisit my most embarrassing. I'm hoping enough time has passed that I can admit this without reliving the humiliation, or at the very least, without crying as I'm writing about it.

It happened just 2 years ago after the funeral of my dear sweet Uncle Gus. I always cry at funerals, and it's expected, so unless it's audible, I don't consider that embarrassing.

After I got home from the funeral, I received a frantic call from my ward choir director wondering where I was. I had forgotten all about the fact that I was singing in the choir that afternoon at our church. Our stake was hosting the "Reflections of Christ" tour, and while people were waiting their turn to view the exhibit, they would sit quietly in the chapel and we were providing 'waiting music', so to speak.

Luckily I was already in my dress, so I headed out the door and arrived just as they were filing into the choir seats. To my utter horror, our first song was "Oh My Father", normally not a sad song, but it just so happened to be the hymn that the congretation sang at my uncles funeral. Now let me just preface what happened next by saying, music moves me to tears. Anytime. It doesn't have to be a funeral, or at church. So needless to say, I couldn't choke out the words at the funeral, I just sat with a open book on my lap and watched as the tears splashed on the pages. Often I go to my happy place, and try not to think about the words of the song so I don't become emotionally involved. But as I stood there with the choir and started to sing those words, "Oh my Father, thou that dwellest in the high and glorious place" I lost it! Tears started streaming down my face, snot started streaming down my face, and my book started raising in front of my face.

I have never been one of those pretty cryers like you see in the movie, where little tears silently overflow from the corner of the eyes. When I cry, there's no hiding the fact. My face gets all red and splotchy and starts contorting into what I call, 'ugly face'. I am not a pretty sight. So to stand in front of a whole congregation and cry was beyond embarrassing. I tried not to listen to the words, I tried to go to my happy place, but it was no use. Everything I had suppressed at the funeral was now coming out and trying to stop it was like trying to hold back Niagra Falls.

Eventually I just sat down. I tried to compose myself so I could join in again, but it was no use. I was having a meltdown, and there's no stopping it till it works its way out. I sat there through the whole performance, head down, dripping and sniffling and feeling like it would never end. I should have just left, but I was smack in the middle and didn't want to cause a scene, or draw any more attention to myself by climbing around the alto section, so I stayed and suffered; afraid to look up for fear of the pity I would see in the congegrations eyes. I'm sure my fellow choirsters were wondering what the heck was wrong with me, but I never gave them the chance to ask. As soon as we were done, I hightailed it out the door then drove around for 15 minutes til my face returned to a normal shade and the splotches disappeared. Because I for sure didn't want to go home looking like I had been crying. I knew if I did, Tary would have taken one look at me and asked, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

And we all know what happens when someone asks you that, you start crying all over again.