Caterwauling

Naturally I had to buy both versions of “We Can Always Come Back to This” from last night’s “This is Us” episode.

Listened to both on the way to work on a loop.

So many feels.

I think of my Momma too, just like William did.

I thought of someone else who would appreciate it. Posted the iTunes link on Facebook rather than saying “this would be our song if …”

He knows.

Lyrics:

Standing at the station
We don’t know what to say
Looking out the window
As you’re rolling away
If I’m gonna be alone
Let it be with you.

Mother don’t you cry
We’re gonna be all right
Open up your suitcase
When you get there tonight
You’re not alone
I’m always
Always here with you.

No matter where we go from here
No matter how the cards will fall
I’ll pick you up
And you’ll hold me too
So don’t give up on me
I’ll never give up on you.
Everything’s gonna be all right
I know you believe it too
If I’m gonna be alone
Then let it be with you.

Look up not down
It all comes around
Even when you’re gone
We can always come back to this
We can always come back to this
We can always always always always always come back to this.

— “We Can Always Come Back to This,” written by Siddhartha Khosla and performed by Brian Tyree Henry and also by Hannah Miller

The thing that makes “This is Us” so unbelievably awesome is exactly what I posted about yesterday.

I am still reeling from last night’s episode that took Randall and William to Memphis. And why?

Because the writers leave nothing on the table. They pack every brilliant idea they can find into each episode.

They know the show could be canceled at any moment. (It won’t, thank God — it’s been renewed for the next two years already.)

I cried and laughed and cried and did I mention cried? That’s how you do it. That’s the writer, the producer, the director, the talent, the EVERYTHING coming together.

I really need to sign up for Shonda Rimes’ screenwriting class. I have to. These stories aren’t telling themselves, you know.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you,” as Maya Angelou said.

And mine is killing me with each day that passes with it going untold.