Tears Through The Years

I commented once to my daughter about my life and how goodness seemed to follow me. I was lucky but I also took advantage of the luck. Things seemed to work out. She reminded me that I had gone through some dark times. I held my son as he passed from this life to the next. My husband had what would be a brief illness before he passed away. What should have been a time for us to share our last thoughts and words was fraught with interference and judgement. Those were the low times. Throughout life many tears are shed. But for me, the tears are a gift from the Universe. They allow me to shed the emotions that otherwise would be locked up inside. Tears help us to gain power over the fears, sadness, anxiety or loneliness that we encounter in life. A good cry can really clean out the cosmic debris that holds us hostage. It makes room for better things. It allows us to clear our souls of whatever is holding us back. Most importantly it allows us to move forward.

As a small child I remember little about the tears I cried. What I remember most was who comforted me and how they did it. My Mom was front and centre when I was young. She didn’t really say much but she somehow was able to make things right. Just by holding me and allowing me to spill my tears, she made me feel safe. I honestly can’t remember much of what brought on my tears as a child. I remember the warmth and safe feelings as I was allowed to feel my little girl sadness. My father was a strong presence in those early years. There was never a feeling of fear or anxiety. Just safety. I remember coming home in the winter when the sun set early. After choir practice or playing at a friends, opening the back door to be met with the heat of the house and the smells emanating from the kitchen. It was like a big warm hug. You were home. And safe. Hugs and hello’s awaited me as I made my way into the huge kitchen.

The teen years brought tears when friends suddenly became hurtful. Junior High is the worse time in any child’s life. Although I escaped relatively unscathed, those three years had their moments. One day you get to school and no one talks to you. A mean girl has started a rumour but no one tells you what it is. My way to handle it was to keep quiet, ask no questions and go home to fall into a heaping blob while my Mom stroked my hair and let me pour out my heart. Her advice when I finally stopped the tears was to hold my head high, stand tall and march into school the next morning without a care in the world. She knew it would end and all would be fine. But… She reminded me that those that gave me the silent treatment were not to be forgiven quickly. It would take time for them to be accepted into my presence. It was hard and lonely but for a week or two I was busy. I rushed home after school, I wasn’t available to talk on the phone, and at school I sat quietly and worked very hard. Lunchtime my Dad picked me up and I ate with him and Mom and then he drove me back to school. I had become a ghost. In the end, they were right. Because soon everyone wanted to see me. My heart ached the whole time but I showed the pain to the people who loved me. My Mom made that my superpower.

The years leading to adulthood are so full of anxiety and fear. Dating, boyfriends and everything that goes along with it cause another level of emotional upheaval. Teen heartbreak is so silly when you look back but at the time it feels like the greatest pain in the world. The boyfriend of years who cheats. The pain knowing others knew but didn’t tell you. Break-ups. Jealousies. The beauty of falling in love and the ache of falling out of love. Tears are shed not so much for the person but often for the relationship. The memories but also the idea of what might have been. I was the one to end relationships. Whether I was wronged or not. I still cried. I shed tears for the people I hurt as well as those who hurt me. Usually there was no reason. I just outgrew people. Or there wasn’t enough of my heart in it and I needed to move on. Through it all my feelings were inside and by then shared less and less with my Mom. But the crying still made way for more happiness.

The fears I held when my first child was born had to be put on hold. I had a child who needed me to be the strongest person I could be. Talk about imposter syndrome. I was 19 years old and so not prepared for this little one. 1980 wasn’t as progressive as I would have thought. My little one was in intensive care. On a different floor. She was a bit early but a good size. I would go every 3 hours to feed her and hold her. The Nurses were not at all kind and often fed her from a bottle. I met another Mom whose baby was also in intensive care. I asked if he was early as well. But no. She was putting him up for adoption and so he was being kept there. All of a sudden it was so clear. I wasn’t married and so they were keeping her from me. A quick phone call to my Doctor and screaming at the receptionist had him on the line immediately. He was surprised she hadn’t been moved to the regular nursery. She was only to be under observation for 12 hours. That was the day I grew up. The day my inner Mama bear burned furiously. I went back to the ICU and stood guard until they moved her. I brought her little basinet into the bathroom with me and stood in the shower as I cried and cried, letting the tears flow down the drain. I got out of that shower stronger than I had ever been. That was the day my fuck you attitude was born.

Marriage brings a whole other level of tears. Two people, think they are in love and yet, initially they enter this world of wedded bliss loving themselves most. It takes time to truly learn about each other. To actually trust another person to hold your secret fears and longings close to their own hearts. Trust sometimes takes years to develop and yet it can be eroded in just a few moments. In the early years, when we were so young and broke. fear of the future caused so many tears. I married into a very damaged family. A past of alcoholism, abuse and eventually suicide of my father-in-law filtered into our home. It is a cliche’ perhaps but hurt people do hurt people. And throughout the years the tears continued as my husband struggled to walk a fine line between being our husband and father and fulfilling his duty as head of his “other” family. In time he was able to understand that his role was that of older brother not surrogate father. But it was hard for him. And also for me. As we grew up, our years together brought so many tears of joy and happiness. Two more children. So wanted and loved. And Grandchildren. Who just love you. Just because. Life got easier and the future was brighter But also sadness. Happy tears for a little boy who was such a blessed surprise. The anguish when he was taken from us. How my heart broke yet we became stronger as a couple. Hearts heal although scars remain as a reminder of what could have been. Yet life became beautiful again. We cried away the pain.

The years went by and our children were out in the world. We cried when their hearts hurt and we felt blessed to be a part of their joys and accomplishments. It is when I understood my parents more. Trying to support our adult kids but still wanting to destroy anyone who hurts them. Knowing they would be alright even though we had little to offer other than love and hugs. They had to go through their own pains and joys as we had. We could only watch and pray. But we were happy in our life alone together. Settling into a routine as retired folks do. Finally at a comfort zone where we accepted each other. Fully. Understanding that we were separate yet fully bonded. Life was comfortable and our tears were shed over the joy of marriages and grandkids. The fears through our daughters pregnancies were for our babies. Praying they would be ok. The joy we felt as each new little one made their way into our lives. We listened as our kids came home to share. But we didn’t allow them to come between us. Our son needed us in different ways than our girls. And our girls could not have been more different. In the end we hoped that they knew always how much we loved them and how we would always be there for them They are a part of us.

There is an ending to every story. That last summer when my husband just wasn’t getting better. The awful news. The diagnoses. The pain he felt as we told the kids. How his heart ached for them knowing what it was like to lose your Dad years too soon. In many ways we were blessed to have that time when we knew it might not last. Sharing thoughts and emotions. Everything he did then was to make it easier for me. I know that. And he shared more of his life in that short time than he did in the prior 36 years. I was so honoured to see inside his heart and soul. I knew he trusted me to do what he wanted. Even if others disagreed. So there were tears of sadness. Some anger. But he made us laugh and he was funny until the end. The tears were sometimes from laughter as he took that last journey. We will always have that. We got time to say our good-byes. No regrets. Nothing left unsaid. He gave us that as well. And in the years since then he has given us even more tears of pure joy. Why just yesterday I told my daughter I was going to spread his ashes on his birthday. He would have been seventy this summer. She asked what I was going to do with Ethan’s ashes, her brother. Well I am going to mix them with my husband and Ike, the dog. Yes my husband had our dog cremated and his ashes sit on the shelf next to our son. Well my daughter laughed until she cried. But it just seems right that a man and his boy and his dog should be together. He would have laughed too.

I still cry often over my hubby. And it feels good. Because it brings back good memories. Music, smells, places. It all brings him back to me. I heard a song by the Nitty Gritty Dirtband the other day. It always makes me think of him and laugh and laugh. It brings tears to my eyes. Many years ago, Fishin’ In The Dark came on the radio. I sang along. When the song ended I turned and said “Remember that night? At Max Bell. What a great concert. It rained and the car got stuck in the mud in the parking lot. That was so fun. Remember?” He just looked at me and said “That wasn’t me!” Man we laughed.