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.
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.
These Tears Felt Different
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.