Saturday afternoon I happily told a good friend how well my previously ailing mom was doing. Not an hour later, my sister called to tell me that Mom had fallen unconscious and was in the emergency room. 1500 miles away from me. I immediately wanted to eat something. Anything. I stopped myself, asking:
"What do you really feel?"
"I'm scared I'll never see her again."
And then I cried. And I cried, and cried, and cried. And I'm crying now, writing this.
I don't cry often. But I have been known to eat a lot. A month ago, with similar news, I ate and didn't cry. Today I cried and didn't eat.
When my kids are upset, I tell them to let the tears out, because they hurt a lot less once they're outside than they do on the inside. Perhaps if I follow my own advice, I won't have to pile food on top of the hurt to dull the pain.
I get it.