After we moved from our home on Delaware Lane, I don’t remember crying. Well, the time I was bit in the face by our Doberman Pinscher, I cried. And, the time my mother left me at home all by myself – I cried then, too.
What I am talking about are the tears that drained from my soul when I was in my early 40s. I couldn’t get them to turn off.
All those lonely years suffering silently in my parents’ home. I couldn’t cry. Not anymore.
I have learned how healing tears can be. As they’ve run down my face, I feel the release of years and years of pent up rage, sadness, loss.
I cannot tell you when I learned that my tears weren’t acceptable, but I was very young. Crying or any form of uncontrollable behavior was simply not tolerated in my father’s home. I wish they had been.
Tears would have taught me to see myself. They would have beckoned me on in my healing. They would have brought comfort to the dark places no one took the time to see.
So, today, I cry. It is a gift from God that I enjoy. There is such freedom in releasing tragedies through our tears.