Anyone who knows me well knows that I cry at the drop of a hat. My favorite uncle told me when I was just a little girl that the world would be an unhappy place for someone who wore their heart on their sleeve. He was right, I guess.
There are all kind of tears, cried for all kinds of reasons. There have been times I’ve laughed so hard that I’ve cried. I cry when I hear a sad song or see a sad movie. When I see or read something that kills my soul, like animal abuse and other inhumanities that humans visit on themselves and other creatures. I cry when I am frustrated with something or if something disappoints me (read: If I don’t get my way about something I’ve counted on).
But the tears I am talking about today come from deep within. And they come without warning. Just this afternoon, I was sitting on my unmade bed, waiting for the sheets to come out of the dryer, and using that moment to reorganize my nightstand and run some Liquid Gold over the table top. And the house was quiet and peaceful and I had some Acoustic Alchemy on the player. And I just started bawling. Why? I miss Robert so much, every day of my life. At any given time, I can be in the middle of something, and he will pop into my head, and I’m filled with sadness and regret and longing and love and hurt and pain and every emotion you can think of. Maybe even anger. Anger that he had to spend the last eight years of his life not being the vital person he always was and was meant to be. Anger that he was dealt such a bad hand in life. Anger that he’s no longer here to share my life (that’s the selfish part I guess).
So I guess I just have to get used to my tears, like I have to accept the sudden and furious thundershowers that we had this morning, so violent that a lightening strike took down a tree in my neighborhood. Then — as fast as the rain came — it disappeared. Leaving a fresh cleanness in its wake. Tears are like that, too, I guess.
Linda got it right. “Deep inside, I’m blue.”