Tears seem to be our emotional register. They are the nemesis of laughter. They are ever-present, just off to the side, hidden within the shadows of our joy, and waiting anxiously to see if we need them. They are at our beck and call, knowing that at some point we will call upon them, and they will unleash themselves, and tears will flow.
Tears are like writers or artists in that they bring an accent of emotion and color to the story we tell, the story we live. Tears live within the laughter and sorrows of our life making what we do and feel more believable to others. I wonder are all tears the same. Are the tears of joy the same tears we cry when we are hurt or feel pain?
It could be said that tears can be measured as great bringers of sorrow while other tears hardly impact us, like tears of laughter or a sad song. We often hold back our tears exiling them to a place beyond emotions, a place where pain is frozen without feeling. People may think we too are cold and without feeling and these would be the forgotten tears, tears that we can not cry.
Then there are the good tears the tears we cry for others. They can be filled with joy showing those you cry for that you care and share their joy. You can cry good tears and still feel a sadness because these tears are for someone you lost that held great meaning or love for you. You honor them with good tears.
Tears are like stars in the night sky in that they are abundant and have many diverse purposes. Just because we cry doesn’t mean we need comfort; maybe, it is just what we need to do for a while then we move on. Tears and laughter are not so dissimilar as we might think.
Point Of View
The last year that my mother was alive she came to live with me, and I really got to see who she was. She was a funny person who laughed easily and always wore a smile that made her blue eyes sparkle. When the caregivers came over, she was always more concerned about how they were than how she was doing. She would ask about their kids or how a date went, and she always wanted to feed them. When Mom passed it was in the summer and she had asked me to tell everyone not to wear suits but to wear summer clothing because it was too hot. She always cared more about other people than her own self.
I never cried when Momma died. I felt that she deserved a better tear than I could shed. I waited for a better tear, one that would honor her for the kind and caring person that she was, but I never cried that tear. I never could find the tear that was as pure, kind and unselfish as she was, and I still hope that one day I will find that better tear.