The other day, I was reading some posts by a work colleague of mine about his wife's diagnosis, treatment, and recurrence of a brain tumor. It moved me to tears, though I've only met his wife one time, and recently. And I had no idea when I dined with them at a firm holiday dinner party that she was undergoing chemo and awaiting results regarding recurrence. She was joyous and charming. It's amazing what lies inside of us that we don't show to others. And in one of his posts, he talked about being so overcome with tears that he had no words. And how the tears were holy tears. He is devoutly Jewish, so his post had many religious references that I didn't fully understand. But, he spoke of "the gates of tears" being open and the experience of crying being holy. That, I intimately understood.
My Mom has told me before, but recently told me again, that she believes crying brings us closer to God.
Holy tears. I suppose that concept resonates with me. I cry easily when I am moved deeply. In those spiritual moments when the entirety of the universe is just so very close. I think that's what my Mom means. And, like my friend who found himself with tears but no words at his wife's suffering, that wordless tearful state is one I have found myself in on more occasions than I could possibly recount during my life. Crying is a release and a relief. It removes tension. It lets us get underneath the facade we force when we have to push through other things in life while the unspoken things underneath lie in wait.
Crying is the only thing that evicts the elephant that likes to sit on my chest sometimes.
My Dad tells me I am the most tender-hearted person he knows. I think having plentiful tears just goes with that territory.
I've also been told my tears caused rain to fall outside. One of the most beautiful sentiments. Sometimes, I even believe that to be true. There have been too many thunderstorms beating on my windowpanes during bouts of my crying for me to overlook. Serendipitous crying along with the infinite sky. An unearthly symbiosis that comforts me in those moments.
I cried in front of a friend not too long ago, and I was holding it together as much as I could while hot tears just streamed down my face, and she told me to just let go and ugly cry. It's a tremendous act of love and sisterhood to genuinely remind someone to stop holding it in when it's leaking out in front of them.
I reminded another friend to cry when he was feeling vulnerable and afraid of doing something important just last week. And I hope he took my advice. I have a feeling maybe he did.
There is nothing more vulnerable than crying. Those of you who have seen me cry... well, just know I love you.
I also read something that said that we don't cry because we are sad. We cry because something is more beautiful than we expected it to be. How profoundly true that is. Of course we cry when we are sad. But in light of this wisdom, I think it is because we realize in moments of sadness how utterly beautiful something was, and tears fall as we soak in that realization. Sometimes we even cry at beauty in the moment. When we are present enough to fully comprehend it before it passes. Happy tears, as my daughter calls them. When we feel overwhelming love. When we see a baby born. When we feel relieved at an accomplishment being reached after working so very hard. When we see a face we have longed to see after too long of missing them. When we hug someone goodbye and we know it will be too many whiles until we can reunite. When we hear a song that stirs the deepest parts within us. Sometimes, tears flow when we don't expect it at all. I think in those times, our minds are subconsciously focused on some deep swirling beauty, but our tongues have not yet awakened to what it is. If we sit with the tears, though, understanding comes.
I know it seems odd to be writing about tears just before Christmas. But, for the record, I know my cheeks will be lined with tears watching my kids open their presents. Singing Silent Night (always makes me cry...). And probably other times, too. Because, as I said, I'm a crier. And I wouldn't want to be any other way.
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