Yesterday, I was broadsided with the pain of an already grieved loss. It unapologetically imposed itself upon me and demanded the release of unquenchable tears. The sight of a person associated with the death of my mom triggered something seemingly dormant, but was evidently alive and well within. Why would I be surprised? It would have been so easy to just walk in the other direction, but the innocent act of speaking and acknowledging my mom's former nurse opened the door to the hidden torrent within.
I almost always enjoy the cathartic event of crying, but when the need to sob materializes while trying to check out at Sam's, causing me to forget my PIN and flustering the cashier, the joy of release threatens to be lost! How many times have tears gotten stuck behind my eyes, taunting me with the pressure, but refusing to be released? Their secret joy must be in taking me by surprise, reducing me to a sniveling little old lady whose fragility seems to elicit a hug from the pubescent girl behind the counter.
Not that I was ashamed to cry, everybody needs to cry, being that tears are a gift. When a good howl is needed, it's just better to be safely hidden away with ones cats, horses, dogs, or people, whomever has the power to comfort most. Who knows how many tears live inside? Maybe they are hiding in there, just waiting to yell, "Surprise! You thought you were fine! Ha ha, we gotchya!"
Maybe tears are a sign of life, kind of like an emotional pulse. To let them flow, embracing one's humanness in the middle of consumer land is probably not so bad, so I lifted my head and I cried. No longer was I just one more person hurrying through the line, but a girl grieving for her mother. These tears were a gift. I spoke through them, smiled through them, and let them flow as the young girl counted my items at the door and highlighted my receipt. They refreshed my face as I walked through the dark parking lot, and reminded me that I am grateful for the arms of God, a wonderful husband and sisters to call. And call them I did, and then I cried some more.
Life is good, even with its pain; I am happy to be alive, grateful to have had parents to miss. Thankful for the years I was able to take care of them. Humbled that I was present as they were ushered into eternity.
Starting another day, will tears once again present themselves? I'll let you know.
I really love this story, Patty...I've had this happen to me before, though I've always found (unfortunately) a way to stuff it. So many of us are emotionally constipated and shut down, not wanting to create a 'scene'. Tears are a gift from God that I don't always open, and His way of helping us release and find freedom. I miss my mom, though most of the time I'm in the "now" and don't tap into that deeper part that longs for her presence and comforting love. Holidays bring it back. Thank you for sharing such a beautiful albeit humbling experience. Wish I could cry more... I know there's so much stored away, and what sweet release it is to find a safe place to let it out. Cats help. :)
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