Don’t you know I worry about you?

It happened twice last week: People posted something melancholy, and I began to worry.

Matthew wrote a haunting piece about the moment when you know that a relationship has spiraled from salvageable to over. Oh, no, I thought, he’s been writing about this great relationship and now it’s over? In a comment, I offered my sympathy, and he quickly responded that in fact this scene happened years ago. He’s fine now. Whew.

Then Chantel posted a poetic elegy called "Treading Water" about exhaustion and wondering whether to call for help. Oh-oh, it sounds like she needs help. She wrote back to say “No worries”; she always writes dark when she’s tired. She said she might edit the piece, and as I write this she has taken it down.

Many of the very creative writers produce emotional pieces, some purely autobiographical and others fictional or enhanced for literary effect, whether melancholy or humorous. I find myself jumping in and playing the grandma role, offering sympathy--or advice.

I’ve been known to comment with things like, “If you don’t want to buy the house your hubby likes, hold out for one you like better,” and “If you don’t want to spend your 40th birthday with your mother-in-law, tell her no, and tell hubby he has to stand up for you.” The minute I send the comment, I think, Who am I to tell this person what to do?

I’m not your grandma, but I might play one on your blog.