“You may forget the one with whom you have laughed,
but never the one with whom you have wept.”~ Kahlil Gibran
but never the one with whom you have wept.”~ Kahlil Gibran
Laughter can be cathartic, but a good cry is how I
cleanse the clutter from my soul.
My penchant for sad movies where
heroines die an untimely death began the day Mama took me with her to see the
movie, Sentimental Journey. She was
crazy about John Payne and because she was Irish, she believed in her heart that Maureen O’Hara was her distant cousin. Mama obviously kissed the Blarney Stone
at a very early age.
I was six-years-old when we saw the movie but I clearly remember that day
in the theater. Mama started to sob about five minutes into the film and I,
lacking the capacity to understand her tears, cried along with her. She would
pull out two Kleenex tissues at a time from her pocketbook, hand one to me and
then blow her nose with the other.
Mama loved going to the picture show and it didn’t
much matter if it was a drama, comedy or a musical. Whatever was showing at the
Carolina Theater (with the possible exception of Roy Rogers and Trigger) was the
movie she would stand in line and pay a whole quarter to see. For many years, I
went with her.
Together we saw Pinky,
Johnny Belinda, Imitation of Life and Little Women, of course. Tearjerkers,
every one of them. Occasionally, she took me with her to see a murder mystery.
After seeing Edward G. Robinson stab a woman umpteen times with scissors in The Woman in the Window, I woke up
screaming.
Sentimental
Journey was the film that set the emotional bar for Mama and me. For the rest of her life, anytime
that movie was mentioned either in conversation, a recorded version of the
song, or even if the movie was replayed on television, she would look over at
me with a knowing smile. That long ago day in the theater with her when I was
just a child continued to be our shared moment in time, one that lingered
between us for nearly fifty years.
Once when I was living in Los Angeles, she sent me a
newspaper article about the movie. It was a tiny thing, not much more than a
blurb, but I still have it. It’s tucked away in my memory box, yellow now with
age. The day I got it, I opened the envelope and lifted out the two-inch square
newspaper clipping and I thought, “What in the world is this?” Then I read the
heading: SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY. It said that the Turner Movie Channel was planning to
run the film again at such and such a time.
I skimmed it and then read the note Mama had attached
which read: “I saw this in today’s paper and thought of you. How could I not?”
Oscar Wilde said, “Memory really is the diary we carry around with us.”
