I have. I saw a Twitter post about a cheerful old fellow in an English care facility who slept with his late wife's photo every night. So, a thoughtful staff member had a photo company create a pillow for him, one side of which displayed his spouse's picture.

When she presented it, he gasped and laughed in surprise, but then quickly clasped the pillow to himself and dissolved in tears.

Cue the Kleenex. I started to cry and a floodgate opened. I sobbed for 15 minutes.

Was that a touching post? Of course. Was my lengthy crying jag exclusively related to the old man clutching his wife's photo and weeping? Of course not.

These are emotional times. I cry easily in the best of times, but the pandemic has me usually teary. Exhausted nurses without adequate personal protection equipment, long lines of cars at food pantries, the stories of those dying alone. And the unsettling feeling, as I view the federal government's response, that we are careening through uncharted waters in a rudderless ship.

So much sorrow and suffering and courage. A future so uncertain.

Then, my own worries, mixed up with gratitude and love, with the tender realization of things I had taken for granted. A visit to my son in Alaska that won't happen soon. A pregnant daughter I may not see for a long time. Another daughter, unemployed.

The happy laughter at online family meetings that doesn't extinguish the deep longing I have to hug my kids. The craziness of drive-by, curbside visits from well over six feet away with a brother who lives only 10 minutes from me.

Brian Stelter is an anchor with CNN. Recently, he missed a deadline for a daily newsletter he produces, and he was courageously upfront about why. That night, he said, he "crawled in bed and cried" over his feelings and fears about the pandemic.

"I hit a wall. Gutted by the death toll. Disturbed by the government's shortcomings. Dismayed by political rhetoric that bears no resemblance to reality," Stelter wrote. "Worried about friends who are losing their jobs; kids who are missing school; and senior citizens who are living in fear.

"I crawled in bed and cried for our pre-pandemic lives. Tears had been waiting a month to escape."

"Now," he said, "is not a time for faux-invincibility."

It's good to hear that from a guy, that gender that often suppresses tears, and from a successful professional. Not just permission to cry, but perhaps an assignment: Once in a while, let those tears flow. It's cathartic. It's a positive release.

A caveat, of course: if you find yourself frequently overwhelmed with grief and emotion, that's a warning signal. If you are experiencing real depression, call a hotline, a friend, your parish or archdiocese or diocese for suggestions.