Spanish for the weeping woman. In Mexican folklore, La Llorona was known to pass through the streets crying over the fact that her children were gone and she was weeping as she went. La Llorona appears as a spirit.
I spent two days in a psychiatric hospital some years back. Psychosis sent me there. It really wasn’t scary, really. It was a very quiet place. Therapists, nurses, counselors. All poised and ready to provide for the residents. Those of us there in need of respite.
My Llorona came to me in the form of my roommate. A woman in residence for undisclosed reasons. Undisclosed to me anyway. She cried. Under her covers. Consistently one entire morning. Enough already. As we were summoned, it was time to eat, I stepped near her bed and urged her to move. Anything to shush her crying. I went on my way, because I do not like cold reheated food.
My La Llorona quit crying and joined us at breakfast. I do not believe that lost children had anything to do with the weeping displayed by my La Llorona sharing space with me at the psych hospital. Who knows? I suppose it isn’t always important what triggers tears. Just make sure breakfast isn’t sacrificed over weeping.