Have A Good Cry
My four-year-old son came into the kitchen crying. I scooted down and wrapped my arms around him. The dog had died in the movie he was watching. C’mon. Old Yeller? While my husband wanted our child to suck it up (the kid was 4 for chrissakes) it wasn’t just a mother’s instinct to want to console my child.
It took me a long time to accept that a good cry is a healthy way to deal with and express sadness, not a sign of weakness.
I never saw my parents cry. Never. Though I’m sure they did. They carried themselves stoically. Through funerals and a variety of family disruptions, their stiff upper lip, to me, was a symbol of emotional control.
In fact I don’t remember crying much as a child. I’m sure I did. An incident in high school upset me enough to bring my pain home and cry in front of my parents. It made them uncomfortable I could tell. My father insisted I stop. He walked out of the room saying whatever my problem was it wasn’t something to be upset about. Basically denying MY feelings.
When my husband was diagnosed with cancer, crying wasn’t my first reaction. I mirrored very well what I’d learned. Around me I wore an invisible armor, a survival suit of sorts, keeping my emotions contained and thereby protecting everyone. But the reality is that a cancer diagnosis is VERY SAD. And hearing this news makes people cry.
My mother was both proud and curious how I managed to keep my life together during the darkest days. After all I had three young children and a dying husband, yet the food shopping got done and the laundry folded into neat piles. On the outside I put up a good front.
Every morning I got up before the sun and the family, to take a hot shower in a place where I could remove my armor in private. As the warm water ran down my backside I visualized all the fear and anger and questions and doubts washing away, down the drain. Then one day I mentally collapsed. In deliberate slow motion, I slid down the shower wall until my ass hit the floor. As the water ran from hot to cold I hugged my knees, and rocked fast back and forth, balling my eyes out uncontrollably. The crying was primal, from a deep scary place. It went on until I couldn’t tell when my tears stopped. The release of the hard cry provided, surprisingly, a great relief.
I got everyone up and fed, backpacks filled and off to the bus. I dispensed my husband’s medications, flushed out his port and pleaded for him to please eat just a few bites of food. The household chores and work obligations got met. Together we creatively financed another day, somehow. When the night ended I tossed in bed waiting for morning when I could have my cry, alone.
Today I stupid cry over EVERYTHING. Grandbabies, puppies, sweet online videos, movies (happy and sad), news of cancer diagnoses, news of remissions, other people’s good fortunes, weddings, funerals, unexpected flowers, etc. Crying isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign that you are a human being with real emotions, and instead of keeping them to yourself, you let them out. That’s why tissues were invented, right?
BE F-G AWESOME TODAY!
Original graphic: Stephanie DelTorchio
