My father died when I was 15 years old. He had spent a good deal of his life away from our home as he worked on the C.P.R. After his retirement I had little time for him. Of course he got a goodnight kiss every evening but a fifteen- year-old’s life is full of school, jobs and boys. Dad was there, listening to hockey games on the radio or sitting in the basement doing odd jobs. You didn’t share a lot with your parents in those days.
The night he died I was at Teen Town, the local Saturday night hang out for teenagers. It was a proper affair run by several members of the community. When I arrived home Mom was crying and shared the news with me.
I never shed a tear.
It was two weeks before I cried and even then I felt numb…there was too much to do to allow myself the privilege of crying. Mom now was responsible for raising three young girls on her own. It would not be easy financially, and the government didn’t step in and rescue us…so I got several part time jobs and just hung in there, working and saving money so I could eventually graduate.
I wasn’t hard-hearted. I just had to put my grief on the back burner if I was going to be useful to anyone. It was about thirty years later, in chatting with a counselor that I finally allowed myself to weep copiously and come to terms with his passing.
In Jan Karon’s book, In This Mountain, she says “Crying is the Holy Spirit keeping your heart soft.”
It took another thirty years before I was to cry like that again. Oh yes, I lost Mom, a sister and a brother but it was when Harry died that my heart truly broke and I am still picking up the pieces.
It takes little to make me cry nowadays. I just glance at some new photos of the great grandchildren on Facebook. Tears blur my eyes. They are so beautiful. What a gift to be given during my golden years! The morning song of a robin, the colours in an Alberta sunset, the voice of a far away friend on the phone…all touch my heart and I no longer hide my tears. They wash over me and refresh me. And in many ways they make me more positive. They remind me of blessings, blessings of the past, of the present and the possibility of blessings in the future.
It has taken almost a life time but compassion is now a constant companion. Experience has been a hard teacher, but I have learned, shared and found that tears are no sign of weakness but rather the sign of the Spirit of God keeping your heart soft.
Photo by Jeff Wallace via Flicker/CC
