Keep Calm & Cry On

If your husband (or wife) dies, and you’re anything like me, crying becomes an Olympic sport. I could crush the competition and win every medal. I have never cried more than I have in the last month  (and year) of my life, since losing my husband Jeremy. I never knew I could cry this much. I feel like I have cried enough to fill several Olympic sized pools. Here are some places I have cried this year….

1. The hospital 

2. On the phone

3. My car 

4. In a closet 

5. In a freezer 

6. In the grocery store 

7. In a pillow 

8. On my walks 

9. In restaurants 

10. At the hair salon 

11. At the nail salon 

12. On a massage table 

13. On airplanes 

14. In a synagogue 

15. On the beach 

16. In the bathroom 

17. In the shower

18. On facetime

19. In so many peoples arms…

I think you get it, right? It’s just become a part of my routine at this point. And while grief is a never ending weight to carry, I am grateful for the ability to release these tears and sorrow as freely as I do. Maybe someday the release of them won’t turn around and flood back over me all over again. 

It blows my mind that there are still so many people out there that think that crying is a weakness, and who think that keeping it together and not showing your feelings is being a pillar of strength. Crying is a superpower. 

Sometimes when I cry in public lately I visualize that I am a glass of water sitting under a running tap. Suddenly I am filled to the brim, but the tap keeps pouring into me and the water starts spilling over my edges. I fill the sink, I spill all over the counter, and down to the floor. I let the water pool. But in the midst of all of this, I try not to worry if anyone will slip on it, because people have eyes. They can see the water streaming down, and walk around it. Once in a while someone comes in with a towel and tries to help clean up, but once in a while someone is oblivious and just runs through the puddles and splashes water back in my face.

I will lose friends. This is and always has been part of the aftermath of loss. I wish it wasn’t, but again, change brings more change. On the flipside, you also gain new friends. When it comes to losing friends though, the trick is to learn to just let it go. Personally, I take things personally. It’s my own lesson to learn. I am a main character in my own life movie going through the shit show portion of the film, and they are a main character in theirs. Maybe they are going through a dreamy sequence of their own film, maybe they are also going through a shit show. Sometimes those two scenes can’t cross each other. Sometimes my analogies take weird turns. Anyway, there’s a difference between taking things personally and setting boundaries for what you no longer allow in your life. None of this is my advice to you, just a reminder to myself. 

But when it comes to new friends, I find myself in this new club. I sat last night with my husband's best friend's mother who lost her husband five years ago to an illness. She had known my husband since he was a small child and was devastated for me and for her son's loss, while at the same time we had this other thing suddenly in common. Spoiler alert, we cried together. Even though we are from different generations she is also the first of her friends to lose her partner. We spoke about the isolation that comes with that, and for a moment I felt seen in a way most cannot see me now. Even five years down the line, for her, it is fresh. And while that brings me no solace, I was grateful for her ability to say things as they are without trying to sugar coat or offer any resolution. That in itself, was a comfort. 

I keep telling myself the strength will come in trying to still myself. To float and let it all happen to me as the sorrow takes over and the tears come back, but trying not to dive into that water even deeper to a point where swimming no longer feels like an option. And then at the same time, trying not to run in the other direction. I know what suppressing it is like. I did that when my dad died. That was a whole other kind of mess. And I deeply believe suppression of these feelings (or any) is the true thief of joy and an authentic life. It’s like Leonard Cohen says “If you don’t become the ocean, you’ll be seasick every day”.

When I met my new friend last night, and we spoke of our late husbands as we cried into our pizza on the terrace of a restaurant, I was so grateful that I didn’t choke back the tears along with my cheeseless gluten free pizza. And grateful she didn’t hide hers either. Because this was an important moment. A moment I needed. A mirror I needed to look into. I know she needed it too. We all do. It is a relief when we meet each other authentically. A way to remember how connected we are under all the layers of life we cover ourselves in. So while I don’t wish you reasons to cry, if you need to, I hope you just let it happen no matter where you are. As the old saying goes, Keep calm (or lose your shit) and cry on. X