I seldom cry. Yes, okay, friends who know me well will tell you otherwise and you may have noticed that I admit frequently to tears. But that’s different. I seldom cry when I’m unhappy. It seems such a pointless exercise. Only when the pain goes very deep do I weep and they are usually silent tears that fall unheeded.
Nor am I one of those who use tears for effect. After all, if someone cares so little that they can’t see when they have hurt you, what difference will tears make?
I do not remember weeping when my son was stabbed until he came out of surgery, hours and a hundred miles later. But I wept when he took that first unaided breath. I wept when he gripped my hand and when he took those first steps. He makes me weep a lot.
I remember the tears in the courtroom, shredded tissue on a black dress as we relived the nightmare and heard the full story for the first time.
But I don’t cry often in pain. It has to cut to the heart.
Beauty, kindness, care and joy, though, they get me every time.
And it won’t matter where I am, who I’m with or what I’m doing.
There was, of course, the unforgettable final moment of the ritual drama at the workshop in Derbyshire last year… many could tell you of that… when the sheer power and beauty of what was witnessed had me sobbing like some kind of small fountain and drying my tears on the robe. I will be carrying tissues this year… being so intimately involved with this workshop, after all, I may need them.
I cried at the sheer beauty of the world the first time I stood on top of a snow covered peak. I can weep for music… the first bars of the overture in a theatre always gets me. I cry at books, and weep for the small sacrifices made in silence for love.
But when it is aimed at me personally, we get to a whole new level of leakage. It can be as simple as a well-timed hug. Rare as they are, they matter. Every time. A simple hug can speak all the things for which the heart has no words. It can be a jar or three of coffee (you know who you are) and the care that goes into that gift, words on a card in the post or an small act of kindness.
It can be a few lines written out of the blue that catch me completely unawares, that creep into the heart, moving me so deeply that tears are the only answer I have to give. I went to bed with those tears last night.
It can be a story told with humour, hiding the depth of emotion.
There was one such this morning, posted by a friend. That friendship itself can move me to tears (but don’t tell him, he has a twisted sense of humour and I’d never hear the last of it!). We met some years ago online. Running Elk, affectionately known as H and another young woman, continents apart, became close friends online. We did some meditative work together. Only a year or so later did I find out they were related. The support they and Mrs H gave me through some very rough times and also later, when my son was attacked, is beyond words or price.
I had the pleasure of spending a few days wandering the landscape with all of them last year…the first time we had met after a friendship so deep and so long.
I wandered off again, didn’t I? No.. there was a point to that particular digression. I was going to say that while not everything we read online is true, especially the apparently lovely things, I know this writer and know that if he is sharing this story it is a true one. And so I had tears before breakfast, because it moved me so much. Don’t be fooled by the light touch of his writing either. I don’t for a minute think he got through it dry eyed either.
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
I’ve been reading running elk for awhile! So cool to know you are friends with him!
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We go years back. I’ll be seeing him and his family in April 🙂 I bounced up and down like an idiot when i found out they were coming to the launch 🙂
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Yay for you! Where does he live? What city are you in? My ancestors came from England to America on my dads side in the 1600-1700’s! I guess that makes a little English!
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Well he’s in Northwest Scotland, and I’m in a village near Aylesbury.. about 40 miles NW of London. Though there is a seacave near H that I have my eyes on. he just has to come to an arrangement with a blue dragon about the plumbing and internet ( yep.. it gets that daft…)
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Oh fun! Did I ever tell you my great uncle is the late Kenneth McKeller?
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No! I didn’t know that. 🙂
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Oops.. he’ll murder me.. NE Scotland… definitely north East… 😉
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No murder allowed! Lol. Yes. Kenneth was a great singer . He died a couple of years go in Lake Tahoe where his daughter was living. He was married to my younger Oma’s sister. Boy could he sing!
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I remember 🙂
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lol Bit of a long detour for when you finally manage to come visit the cave… though a very nice one, nevertheless… 😀
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I like both ends of Scotland.. don’t mind climbing Ben Nevis again to get to the cave 😉
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You kept that under your hat! Makes you Scottish royalty, that does… 🙂 Seriously!!
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Oh my! Royalty! I must share a post about him some time. Thank you. I talk to his son occasionally via Skype . He is such a nice man. He loved my grandmother so much. His mom ( my Oma’s sister)passed away quite young I believe in her early 60’s. my grandmother out lived all 14 sisters! At least that is how many I think she said she had! Can you imagine?
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Oh, my. 14?!? I thought 11 aunts and uncles was enough… too many cousins by far! lol Look forward to that post! 😀
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sighs… he couldn’t resist. I apologise for the bear, Alesia 🙂
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Seriously!!! If him and Moira Anderson had gotten it together on more than the performing stage, we’d have ceded years ago! lol
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Reblogged this on Wyndy Dee and commented:
🙂
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Blushing furiously… not nearly worthy of such a generous build up.
And I can only apologise… nothing worse than soggy toast… 😉
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That’s ok, H, Ani helped with the clean up 🙂
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Reliable! I like that… 🙂
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🙂
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Love what you wrote and did go and read Running Elk’s which was very powerful and yes, got to me also. Thank you. Paulette
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It has been one of those days where the tissues seem to have been in use a lot today 🙂
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