Pass me that hanky

The last few days have been a little odd. For no reason I can see, I've been really emotional. Teary, weepy, start-sniffling-without-warning emotional.

I'm not sure what the reason is. This emotional roller coaster has seemed downright hormonal but, frankly, it's been a few years since I had to worry about that. There must be some explanation, though I can't figure out what it is, for why my mascara doesn't make it through the day.

I got all weepy (several times) thinking about the Dallas Stars and the fact that they didn't make the playoffs again. Actually, that's not correct—I'm disappointed about the playoffs, but that's not what makes me so sad. It's the terrible feeling the full season tickets holders were left with after the last game of the season, Saturday night. We couldn't celebrate success because there wasn't any. We should have been enjoying watching our favorites players one last time, but the Stars sat out a bunch of the guys we know and love, several of whom probably won't be playing in Stars uniforms next season. Instead, we got to watch a few "NHL debuts," and let me just say I couldn't have cared less.

Plus that game was Fan Appreciation Day, celebrating all the fans…except us.

All season long we were there, approximately seven thousand of us, for every freakin' game, good or bad. We showed up, filed in, spent money on concessions, filled our seats and cheered. Every game. And during the dark days when we were the only ones showing up, they told us, over and over, "Bring your friends! Let's fill the place up!" Yes, we knew we weren't enough. Yes, we knew they wanted to fill the arena. We wanted to fill the arena. And when attendance started booming, we were thrilled—no more cheering in a vacuum. No more staring across the ice at banks of empty seats.

But the fact is that when attendance was down, the number it was down to was us. We were still there, no matter what. Maybe what the Stars meant to say was, "Thanks for coming, for being serious, hard-core fans we can always count on to show up. Thanks for supporting us through thick and thin." Yeah, maybe. But that last game left us with a bad feeling. (For the record, section 310 STHs just shrugged—well, that's over—and left quietly.)

I also had a mammogram yesterday. My breast cancer, in 2005, was discovered in a routine mammogram, just like that one. I've told the cancer story elsewhere, so I won't go through it again, but the fact is that I never think these mammograms are going to be a big deal. I sincerely don't think it's going to bother me. But I get there and it really, really does. Somehow just being in the quiet room with the machine, sitting and waiting, brings it all back. I was sniffly and intermittently teary while the technician was having the radiologist look at my images. After she came back, said nothing had changed (that's good news) and escorted me back to the changing room, I just sat and boohooed for a few minutes, trying to get myself under control. Then I texted Rich, telling him this was the last one I'm doing by myself. (First-class husband that he is, he just replied to let him know when the appointments are. He's a sport, that man of mine.)

And, last but not least, my mother-in-law in Denver has been sick. Weird sick. Slurring her speech, acting strange, sounding for all the world (from the info we're getting over the phone) like she's had a stroke, but then not having signs of it on the MRIs they keep doing. And she resists seeing a doctor at all, much less going to the emergency room. We have to wait for texts from Rich's brother (FIL gets pissed if the brother calls us, because "it's nothing to worry about, she's fine") to see what's going on, just waiting and hoping for the best.

I thought after both my parents were gone that I was done with this particular torment. After all, I love my in-laws but they're not my parents. But no. I worry just as much, but have considerably less influence. (Even though my MIL loves me, she only tolerates so much butting into her business.) So thinking about that triggers the waterworks, too.

Maybe it's something seasonal. Springtime. The pollen count. Or, I don't know, another lingering side effect of those steroids I took a few weeks ago. In any case, it can't last forever, right?

Please?