I cried last night.

I was preparing a picture collage for my aunt’s 90th birthday, and while this in and of itself is cause for celebration, I cried while creating this masterpiece for what it represented beyond a milestone birthday. The pictures did not include images of myself but represented the adult life of my aunt as I remember it. Beautiful pictures, some black and white, some with a person’s head chopped out of the frame, some with family members who are no longer with us. This is what opened the flood gates.

Spread out before me, I saw my aunt, one of my mother’s older sisters, with her family at varying stages of their life. I viewed my cousins, both in their youth and in their young adulthood, eventually as parents themselves. Within these faces I saw innocence and hope, and yes, sadness at what life was meant to hold for them but how it was altered, out of their control. It made me wonder how their lives might have been different.

So I cried.

A Steady Stream of Tears

The tears started gently but soon became a steady stream as one thought lead to another. I cried for my cousins who lost their father when they were only in high school, forever forging a path as the men of the household now. Then I cried as I thought of my own boys being vulnerable. I envisioned what their life may have been like had that happened. Instead, they were left to deal with The Big Ugly a few short years later.

The tears didn’t stop there.

Again, I cried for my boys. For the continued guilt I feel as their mom for leaving their father and shattering our belief in what a family is supposed to be. Forever changed. For the pain they have to live with because I could no longer endure my own pain, for the reality they now have to face as part of a broken family, for not protecting them enough. Then I cried some more.

Tears for Father, Mother, Family

I cried last night for my father, forever estranged from his own brother, a man who is too short sighted to realize the loss of someone truly loyal in my dad. I cried for all the dreams families have that go unfulfilled, expectations that fall short, disappointment in choices made.

Next, I cried for my mother who lost her dearest childhood friend this week to the cruel disease that is Alzheimer’s, taking away the dignity of dignified people as they get older. A relieved blessing for no more suffering, recognizing a loss that had been a long time coming, but still a loss.

Yes, I cried. Not big, ugly tears but tired, worn out tears, of someone who has cried hard before. Tears on repeat to Neil Diamond’s I am…I Said. I dare you not to cry when it plays.

I cried for both my parents who I don’t see often enough but think of everyday. My tears fell because I feel I have disappointed them with my life choices. I know they understand as we collectively sigh in relief for the solo life I chose. Still, I cried.

I cried for my siblings who are the only two people who will have the longest shared memories with me, even if we see those memories from different angles on occasion. How I wish we were kids again.

Cathartic Tears of Healing

I cried for friendships that have gone dormant these past two years, for the friends I’ve lost because of The Big Ugly. I’ll never understand why they gave up on me, left me, couldn’t stand by my side when I needed them.

I cried last night because I could. For the woman I just met who lost her son to an overdose the week prior, yet she courageously came to class because she didn’t know what else to do with herself. Her son was my son’s age. I cried for the woman who sat next to me, bravely reading her written words aloud, shocking us at the end when we realized the metaphorical piece was about her loss, a miscarriage.

My cathartic cry continued. I cried for all of the lonely people because lonely is a tough place to be. I cried because I wish I could make it better for them somehow. A little less lonely, perhaps.

I cried for all of my friends who lost their mothers and fathers ahead of me. Oh, I cried. That must be a pain too hard to bear.

I cried for the person I could have been, but my friends remind me I can’t go back in time. They know I want another chance at love, at life. I will find it. I am making my way now.

But here I am, listening to Neil Diamond on repeat, a tribute to my dad. He too likes a good song, and a good cry.

Then I stopped. I stopped the tears and picked myself up by the proverbial boot straps. Tears are cathartic, providing a good cleanse. Today I will finish crying. Tomorrow I will stop crying and get on with living.

Disclaimer: There were no real tears shed in the writing of this piece. The writer took creative, metaphorical license for some dramatic flare, so dear readers, do not worry about the writer’s mental state. All is good, all is fine. Hope you enjoy the read.

Going back to the beginning, when I first started this blog. I am sharing one of my original pieces that resonated with so many of you. Long before I even knew what I was doing or what this blog would really be about. Thanks for hanging in there. I give you, once again, the Golden Girls.