At some point soon after, I stopped being able to cry. No more falling apart at the grocery store; I was cool, I was okay. I was numb and didn't know it, nor did I know it was normal.
After a short time had passed, this not crying upset me. "Something is wrong with me!", I would lament to my mother. "I want to cry, but I can't." When I finally broke down and bawled, I remembered why I had stopped crying in the first place (or so I liked to laugh it off to myself) -- crying has the concrete ability to make your eyelids the most red and hot and puffy you have ever seen them. I'm talkin' put-you're-fingers-in-front-of-your-closed-eyes-like-it's-a-game-and-feel-the-heat-radiate-from-an-inch-away kinda cryin'. No mater the heartbreak, no matter the pain, no matter what depths of raw feelings and realities I thought I had faced -- I had never cried like that before.