Something broke inside of me. I stood in the corner of the room as she buried her face in the soft blanket that covered her daughter’s still and silent body. I introduced myself when I came into the room, but in the weight of her grief, she forgot I was there. Should I stay? Should I go? Standing back as an observer in such a personal space felt awkward, but it felt like leaving and returning would be more disruptive than helpful. So, I stayed. I stood silent and still, and my heart broke.
Thank you for sharing so we can weep with you.
I'm glad for your tears. I try to imagine doing your job without them coming at least sometimes. And I think it would be damaging.
I don't cry well. And it's because I learned to not be connected with my feelings, a situation that I'm trying to remedy (writing songs!), but isn't easy. But sometimes there is a song or a moment in a movie that finds a chink in the rusty armor and a tear can get it out and I've grown to value the moment as holy.