April 21, 2002

[General] Crying

And I don't know a soul who's not been battered
I don't have a friend who feels at ease
I don't know a dream that's not been shattered
Or driven to its knees
--Paul Simon

I want to be the girl with the most cake
He only loves those things because he loves to see them break
I fake it so real, I am beyond fake
And someday, you will ache like I ache
--Courtney Love

I am not a crier. I don't cry. Before my Aunt's funeral, 2 years ago, I probably hadn't cried for a number of years. I just never saw the reason for it. It took up some amount of valuable time and it made your eyes all red and puffy and there was really no way to hide that you had done it--no amount of makeup can cover up the "been crying" look. So, I avoided it.

That isn't to say that I didn't get teary at weddings, or when watching sad movies, although truth be told, I usually try to avoid sad movies. Life is too short to deliberately inflict pain on yourself, even if it's fake pain. I worry enough about losing my cats without watching "Old Yeller";. I think enough about losing my mom without watching "Wit";. I think enough about losing my husband without watching "Untamed Heart";. But I digress.

So, teary I occasionally got but real, gut-wracking sobs were reserved for someone else. Someone who wasn't me.

And then it was September 10th and we didn't know that it was the last day that it would be normal ever in our lives and so we ignored it and then it was September 11th and it all changed.

After September 11th, all I could do was cry. I sat at home and watched the news and cried. I watched the agonizing faces of the survivors holding up pictures of the missing and the dead on TV, holding out hope that their Dad or their husband had already been on the way out, maybe to run to Starbucks for a latte, when the plane hit. Because he was on his way out, anyway, he could have gotten out, right? He might be alive and only hurt. He might have a head injury, but be alive. He might have amnesia. But he was alive, right?

Only he wasn't and I knew that. And it was--oh, God, how hard to watch them, knowing that their hope was false, knowing that Dad was really at his desk, on the 105th floor, barking orders at his secretary when he glanced out the window and saw the plane.

But I kept watching. I didn't lose anyone, see, but I felt that I owed it to the families who did, felt that if they wanted to go on TV and cry that I owed it to them to at least look at it head on, look at their pain and acknowledge it. I owed them, for taking my place, for being the ones to lose. For leaving my life untouched.

Only it wasn't untouched. In the days following, I would sit in my office and look out the window and pretend that there was a plane, sometimes heading for the building next to mine, sometimes heading for my window. I wanted to get inside the heads of the dead, I wanted to know what their last thoughts might have been. I wanted to know I would have had courage, if I would have run, if I would have cried, if I would have even had time to comprehend, to pray, to think about who would feed my cats, who would pay my bills, who would take care of my mom when she is old. Who would comfort my husband.

It's been 7 months now and I find that I still cry a lot. Not every day, but a lot. I cry most of the times that I hear the National Anthem. I cry when I see something happy, I cry when I see something sad. I cry when my cat reaches up and touches my face in that way that he does that absolutely breaks my heart. I cry when I fight with my husband. I cry when I look at my husband and realize how precious he is to me and what it would mean to lose him. I am suddenly a crier, and I don't know how to go back. Part of me just wants to go to the doctor, get a prescription for some sort of anti-depressant and be done with it. There is another part of me, though, that doesn't want to, because crying is a feeling thing and sometimes I think that the best way to honor the dead is to be in our lives, to feel our lives for all they're worth.

Posted by Lori at April 21, 2002 4:46 PM