I had a 3 day weekend. Al did not. So, I set off to visit my family solo. I began the four hour drive with the cd I mentioned last. That may not have been such a good idea. The song "Lullaby" made me want to cry. The song about Alzheimer's did make me cry. "So hard" made me cry again. I took the disc out and replaced it with The White Stripes. So no more crying, but I think the damage was done. At the familial home we spent the evenings reading in companionable silence, as is our wont. I had brought along The Time Traveler's Wife, which many people have recommended to me, and on Sunday I dove into it. It was wonderful. It was lyrical and beautiful and completely devastating. I fell asleep reading it, woke up in the middle of the night, picked it back up and read it through to the end. I could not stop crying. I felt raw, like I had been turned inside out. It couldn't have helped that I was alone in my childhood bedroom instead of at home in bed with my husband. All I wanted to do was put my hands on him, know that he was solid and not likely to disappear. In the morning I rolled out of bed and into the car. I had to be home with Al. Of course, he was at work when I arrived. By the time he came home I was feeling much better. Hadn't cried in at least twelve hours.
I am not usually one to cry like this over music or books. I tear up, but that's about the limit of it. I don't know what's going on.
I did hear (overhear, actually) this weekend that one of my cousins and his wife are having trouble getting pregnant. It's secondary IF for them as they already have a daughter. They have had at least one unsuccessful round of IVF. I wish we were closer, so that I could call them up and commiserate. But, since I am not even meant to know that this is going on, I don't think I should. I don't know how I would feel if out of the blue he were to call me and offer sympathy when I didn't think anyone knew about our own issues. Silly, all this secrecy.