We were watching the season finale of High Maintenance the other night, and right at the end the Guy and his best friend from high school say “I love you” to each other. It’s a very sweet moment, and I just burst out crying.
Zach posted an Instagram story on Sunday featuring a photo from the early ’80s of me wearing sunglasses, cut-off jean shorts and holding an Amstel. The caption read: Happy Birthday to the GOAT @lcarlat. And that made me cry.
A viral video of a 9-year-old boy with cerebral palsy making a basket with the help of his teammate had me sobbing.
Even news about the Mueller report made me tear up, but that was for a different reason.
I’ve been a Mr. Softee for a very long time (years of therapy and kids will do that to you), ready to squirt at the slightest provocation, but this grieving game has been on a whole new level. I’ve been a walking and talking open wound, a bottomless pit of grief and despair, but this time crying offers no relief. It’s just the soundtrack to a tearjerker called Every Day Without Rob.
I don’t know why, but I just flashed on when the boys were 7 and 8 and we went to a stupid kiddie movie (God, we went to so many of them!) called Jack Frost starring Michael Keaton. It’s about some shitty father who dies in a car accident and comes back as a snowman, and at the end the snowman melts into the ghost of Michael Keaton, who tearfully says goodbye to his kid. The movie sucked (it scores 19% on Rotten Tomatoes), but I remember walking out of the theater in my own puddle of tears.
When I was sharing popcorn and Milk Duds with Rob that day, never in a million years could I have imagined that he’d grow up to be the snowman. I’m supposed to be the goddamn snowman—not him.
Nobody wants to see a movie where Robbie is the snowman.