It seems I have had buckets of fresh tears for over a month now...anticipating the holidays, the final weeks of the year, re-living the drama and trauma of what December has come to mean, CANCER, dying, living, crying. Just when I felt as though there could be no more, there they came, and still do. I even awakened to streaming tears from a gut wrenched body, proving, once again, that though we remain focused, poised and strong, the heart knows what it knows. Simply put, I/we cannot escape what is within.
Fresh tears pour and with them comes release. Clarity. New images. Objectivity. Reflection. They are good for the soul, so it is said. I am finding that to be true. However, I do suppress them at times. I am not sure why. Perhaps it's because they don't always come at the "right" time, or someone else is present, and I don't want to cause them more pain. Perhaps they come in a moment when everyone is opening their Christmas gift and there is laughter. Of course, I wouldn't, couldn't, change the tone with my fresh tears. So, I suppress, I push them down. I wait. I finally cry the fresh tears, not because I am weak, but because I have been strong for too long.
What do I see beyond the tears? What do I feel? Yes, the pain, the ache, the longing, the indescribable sorrow of having lost my daughter far too soon. I see the images, although I try not to, of her final weeks, days, hours, that we now walk through in this new year. I have worked too hard for FIVE years to let this life pass me by, or to not use the tears to my advantage, so I look through the clear liquids of my soul, I focus, and I see her, her sister, laughing, laying in bed every Christmas morning of her 21 years, of her image, through cancer, yet eating and laughing, and making sure she went out for that "last" dinner out, toasting the new year with her friends in her hospital room, smiling at her aunt as she had to leave that one last time, feeling so honored to have her family and friends lay hands on her in prayer, and I even see snippets of a little girl, a ten pound baby, one who slept and ate from the minute she was born, and who had a zest for life like no other I have ever seen. I can see clearly now, through fresh tears.
The tears are healing. I may never get to the point where I let them fall freely in front of certain people or in delicate situations. I will probably save them for when I can find healing messages from them, not out in public, but in the safe arms of those I love, or in the presence of others who will not be swayed or disturbed by them. I will allow them to fall when I can, knowing that I can only escape them so long. They will find me, my soul will open up and they will come, regardless of what I say or do. They are mine, and they take me to the next place of healing. I cry for her sister, for her father, relatives, friends, and for myself. But, I try not to cry for her. Her pain is over, she is free, she is soaring, and she resides in all of our hearts. She sends the messages when we need them, and she lives in heavenly peace. Through the tears of the season, any season, and through any reason, I find that the tears still come, serve a purpose, and give me strength to look beyond them, and see what is there to see, hold what is to be held, visit the place of light and darkness, and carry on, for her, for my loved ones, for myself.
For this moment, through the fresh tears, I can see clearly, now.
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