Please pass the Kleenex

"Love you."

This simple and unexpected sentiment from one of my cousins at a recent family gathering seemed to open a floodgate of emotion in me. From then on, the mere mention of my upcoming trip and the related two-year separation from family and friends was enough to bring on a shower of tears. My eyes leaked and my nose ran practically the whole four-hour ride home with my sister and brother-in-law. (This was apparently, in my brother-in-law's estimation, one of the most newsworthy events of the weekend.)

Not usually one to cry, I suddenly found myself in tears as, back home, I packed objects that reminded me of those I love. I again grieved the loss of my cat, Frances, who succumbed to kidney failure two years ago, as I disposed of the apparatus I had used to give her fluids. I recycled the plastic detergent bottle poop scoop of my dear departed dog Yukon only after many tears and several photos of the unsightly thing. And a mere glimpse of a family member cleaning or repairing something in my house as they helped me prepare to go left me momentarily blinded by tears. Among the volunteers were my mom and dad, who must have questioned my stability as they helped me two weeks before my departure. Every other thing out of their mouths turned me into a sobbing 6-year-old.

Lucky for me, this crying phase was just a phase and I was able to get back to work. Maybe it was a full moon. Maybe it was stress. Maybe being emotional is to be expected when one is moving to the other side of the world.

Those around us let us know we're cared for by the way they treat us. But maybe it's especially nice, at least once in a while, to be told, "Love you."