I am a crier.

Of course, when I’m sad. And very much so when I’m angry.

But also when I’m happy.

When I’m filled with so much joy or awe that it has to pour out.

A song, when the high note of the symphony stops me in my tracks (just listen to “Every Living Breathing Moment”).

A smile, when my daughter’s face is as bright as the sun.

A hand, so small and soft, grabs mine and squeezes, pulling me along.

A whisper of “I love you” in my ear, followed by a scramble of clumsy limbs as my son tumbles off my lap, in search of the fire truck that caught his eye, the little voice belting a “wee-ooo” singsong.

A hug, never less than thirty seconds. I told my husband I read that long hugs help relieve stress. He humors me, and squeezes a little tighter as I breathe him in.

A book, as if it’s written for my soul, the story so beautiful. So moved am I by the author’s words, you can’t avoid the tears that it draws from within.

I don’t mind this type of crying. It reminds me that I can feel. And not just one emotion, but them all.

This isn’t a normal book review, but I cried while reading it. From sadness, from anger, from hope and happiness. This story made me feel, and that’s all I can ask for in a story.