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FORGIVE ME FOR CRYING Hellooooo everybody...it's been a long time since I've added a blog. I wrote this quite awhile back and posted it in the magazine, and decided to share it with blogsville too. Hope you enjoy! FORGIVE ME FOR CRYING “Forgive me for crying. I feel foolish” said I. “I mean Elvis has been dead for eleven years!” My young and my man exchanged glances, but said nothing. We left Naples, Florida early that morning and decided to take secondary roads to Memphis. The car was now rising and falling through some charming hills of Alabama. Radio cranked up, classical music filled our space as we passed numerous, steaming roadside peanut shacks with crude, homemade signs advertising fresh peanuts, raw, fried or boiled. The odd combination of the music and the back hill shacks moved me. That and the excitement of soon reaching Memphis…and Graceland…caused my tears. I was forty-four years old. I had wanted to go to Graceland since I was thirteen. I would have preferred that Elvis be alive when I finally got there, but what the hell...if I couldn’t say hello to him, at least I could say goodbye. The tears rolled faster when we reached Tupelo, Mississippi and saw the tiny house in which Elvis the lived. My and my man exchanged more glances. The little old house reminded me of the humble home that I was raised in. “Forgive me for crying so damn much. I can’t understand why this whole thing is so emotional for me,” I tearfully exclaimed. My poor was only eight. “What did she really know of Elvis,” I asked myself, so, with my man's help, I decided to give her a 'crash course a la King, on the go.' By the time we pulled our car into the parking lot near Graceland that day, I was a silent, trembling, red-eyed mess. I was thankful it was off -season and the crowd was small. First we saw Elvis’s plane. I cried. Then we saw his cars. More tears. We spent a long time going through the house. Graceland. The king’s home. His castle. Wow. I cried long and deeply through all the rooms we were allowed in, trying to feel his presence. Then on we went to his museum which housed all his memorabilia. The white outfit from Hawaii, the blue from wherever, the black, the red……oh my God! Then his racket ball building where he complained of chest pains. Cry, cry, cry! Finally…the meditation garden…where Elvis was supposedly buried. All cried out finally, I stopped there for several minutes in complete silence, said my prayer and my proper farewell to the man of my teenage dreams and felt better. I looked up and around me and was ever so surprised, and moved... to see my young and my man holding hands and sobbing their hearts out. All the emotion was contagious. Understanding completely, I smiled, took their hands in mine and all of us, having said our goodbyes in our own ways, walked quietly and reverently away from Graceland. My dear, sweet man said “forgive me for crying honey, I feel so foolish.” We all exchanged glances. We played the King’s music all the way home to Canada and agreed that it was one of the best experiences (and the best cry) we had ever had. "Loving You..." PrairieSky |
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PS..I would have done the same. I loved his music and his movies. I even dreamed of one day meeting him. 
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6/24/2006 9:10 am |
blue hawaii playing on the stereo right now . mmmmmmmmm it was not just his music or his face that beautiful face but it was his eyes that got me ohhhhhhhh those memories. and yeah i would have been crying with ya girl.
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ahhhhhh.....nice to hear there are still Elvis lovers around.  LOL LOL Leah...I also love Bocelli. (Hey did I tell you I have a singer friend who calls him 'Bocinelli'? lol lol...sounds like a new type of bochalism. heh heh."
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