Tears

Over the last few months, I find that I can quite easily talk about what happened to Tommy, to me and in effect to all of us, without breaking down in tears.  When I’m by myself, I cry and tear up often, but can generally hold it together in front of others.  This all changes when I’m writing and then I go back and read what I’ve written.  I find the quote by Robert Frost “no tears for the writer, no tears for the reader” to hit like a dagger to the heart.  I know that what I’m writing evokes fear, sadness and deep emotion in me and while it may not be quite as strong, it also evokes these emotions in the readers.

A big question this brings up is why I feel I have to hold it together for others.  Part of this seems to come out of self defense.  If I build up this wall and outwardly show how strong I’m being, you won’t have extra reason to feel sorry for me.  It’s also just hard to cry in front of others, simple as that.  I can be vulnerable in writing, but find that there are very few people that I feel comfortable crying in front of.  This is much deeper than just how simple I’ve stated it, but for now it’s too much to go deeper into where these feelings emerged from.

There are many things that I just can’t help crying about when I reread them or write about the details.  They emerge from being overwhelmed by the kindness and support I’ve gotten.  They come when I write about the details of that last day or when I think about packing up his room, laying on his bed after he was gone and just trying to absorb all that was left of him - his scent, his aura.  The tears come when I think of the funeral and the fact that that was the last thing that we did for him.  Hearing the tears in the audience, getting up to give a eulogy for my baby.  The tears come when I think of those nights before he died when I had to call 911 and wait for the ambulance, in fear, with Tommy at my side, mid-overdose, not knowing if he was ok or not.  Seeing the fear in his eyes, him knowing that he’d pushed things too far.  Remembering our phone call that night, from the ER parking lot with Peter, wishing desperately that he was home and not in Oregon, but also being thankful that he hadn’t been the one who found Tommy. The tears come when I recall the sobs I heard in the background after Katherine’s parents told her what had happened.  The tears come when I think of Steve’s reaction on the phone when I was in the ER and told him what had happened. The tears come when I think of sitting in that room with Tommy’s body after he was gone.    Talking to my brothers on the phone, hearing the disbelief in their voices.  Seeing my parents that night. Remembering my friends who showed up at my door at 6 or 7 the next morning.  Abby, at the young age of 18, coming to spend the night with me that night so I didn’t have to be alone.  The neighbors just hugging me as the ambulance drove off, saying ‘we’ve got you’.   Thinking of visiting Tommy at the rehab and seeing so much hope in his eyes.  His hugs and knowing that I’ll never be physically hugged by him again.  

There are too many things to list.  Honestly, right now, it all brings tears.  Even thinking about what brings the tears on, brings tears.  Tommy has visited me.  I know that he is with me and sometimes I wake to the feeling of having my hand held tightly.  It’s startling when it happens, but I know it’s him.  He’s still here and just thinking of that brings me to my knees. I miss him every moment of every day and still can’t believe what has happened and with all of my being, I’d do anything to bring him back.  In a way, going back and reading what I’ve written is torture, knowing how deep this pain runs.  In another, I’m so glad that I’ve been writing along the way because I know that as time goes on, while I’ll never be over this and will probably never really heal, the intensity may fade and I want to remember how deeply I felt.  How I need to live in this pain and this grief for a while in order to walk through it.  This pain that is so very human and in it’s own way so very beautiful.  The love and the pain run deep.  I need to feel this in order to be able to look back and see the happier moments.  So, my dear reader, in my tears, may you find healing to your own grief.