Crying is what we do for each other.

And for me, it is hard,  almost impossible for me to do.  I want to, it feels like I need to but nothing really comes out. Sometimes I can get a drop of a  tear to come to the surface. But it is rare.  I have only had a few good cries in my entire life. Even though there has been plenty of reasons to cry. When I am with other people who cry, they look like and seem to feel better after it’s all said and done.  They don’t seem to struggle to let go. In fact, it looks easy for them.

But not me, even when I tell myself~ just relax, soften into it, allow yourself to feel the tears brimming, the moans and sobs well up, but nothing  happens. I wonder where are all those tears?  Are they underground, buried under years of holding back. 

 I can’t really say there was any defining moment where I said” I’m not going to cry”. My brother did decide defiantly to” never cry when he was being whipped”  for some misbehavior.  Friends who had their feeling hurt, will say ” I am not going to cry in front of …( whoever hurt their feelings)”.  But they are all able to cry when they want to, when its the time of their choosing. I would be thrilled with being able to decide this would be a good time to cry and go for it.  Anything at all would be a step in the right direction.

The reason I bring this up now is my aunt visited for the weekend. My Aunt Sandi, who came in from my hometown(over 300 miles away) to visit.  I am glad she came to visit.  Her husband, my uncle Jerry died less than two months ago.  Sandi and Jerry were here just a few years ago, for their first time ever. It was a great visit then, even though we knew he was sick. It didn’t really slow him down  the time. But two years later, now, he has died. I hate that he died. Even though its a natural event in all our lives, its hard to accept the physicality of it all.

Sandi became a widower after almost 50 years of marriage.

We had a nice visit this time.  As nice as can be expected… Sandi told me about how Jerry had been concerned that she would be alone and not know what to do.  He  knew she would be lost for a time.  They made a plan for her to follow once he was gone, to help her know what to sell, what to keep, when to get a new car and make it through the days.

 She talked about his  illness and the last year of his life, the treatments, radiation masks he had to wear. How much weight he lost.  He had accepted his time was coming to an end. He said goodbyes to the people in their lives, tried to resolve lingering issues. His love  is so strong for her.

Even though all the planning is taking care of the days, its the nights that are the hardest. She  doesn’t sleep well, and she cries. A lot she said. I made a comment about being lucky, but it was quietly, under my breath.  She said  it has was always easy for her to cry. I felt a flash of jealousy, dang wish I could cry.  Easily would be even better.

I wanted to ask exactly how she did it. Cry I mean. But it didn’t seem like the best time to ask. In some ways we are the same, both bearing tremendous loss and sadness, hers after having had good love for her adult life, mine for not having the ordinary ~ a father. Being unclaimed.  Or a step father forcing me to endure unspeakable horrors, feeling like there was no one for me while I was being raped, or forced to participate in other sexual acts, nor would there ever be.
I hate that my uncle died.

Now she will be alone and he will have some one who cries for him.

But who will cry for me if I am not able to do so for myself?