cry in church?” I asked her one afternoon after service. “Because God makes me happy.” “Then why cry?” “I’m crying ‘cause I’m happy. Anything wrong with that?” “No,” I said, but there was, because happy people did not seem to cry like she did. Mommy’s tears seemed to come from somewhere else, a place far away, a place inside her that she never let any of us children visit, and even as a boy I felt there was pain behind them.
