To cry, or not to cry

I've been thinking about tears...

I've been making a lot of them over the past six months.

I have this ideal in my head that I shouldn't cry in front of my children; it will make them scared; it will make them worry; it will make them sad.  So I try to save the tears for private times and private spaces.  But sometimes...well, sometimes ideals are hard to live up to.

The other day while Andrew was in the outpatient clinic getting blood, I wrote this (tears streaming):

As the nurses pass by,
I raise my book to cover my eyes,
an obvious effort to hide the tears
and the pain
that no one wants to remember
are there,
hiding,
forced down beneath a smile
like a Jack-in-the-Box
below it's cover,
with the crank constantly churning,
threatening to burst out
at any moment.

I seem to be able to handle and repress the deep grief, the deep sobs.  I save those for John and his shoulder, or my own pillow. But the "in between," the tears that are more than brimming, but not convulsing, spring out when I least expect them.

And Andrew is usually the one to see them.  I know they bother him, so I try to mop them up quickly.  He will say things like "Stop that crying Mama!" or "Are you sad 'cuz we are in the hostibal?"  or "Are you sad because you don't wanna go to bed?"  Or when we are at home he might say, "Why are you crying, Mama? We are at home!"  He looks at me, exasperated.
 
I guess I cry in front of him a lot more than I wish I did.  What can I say.

But I'm learning how to answer his questions.  Initially I would just deny, and "suck them in," and pretend.   "No.  No, I'm not crying (sniff)."  But he is too observant and too smart.  He calls me out.

So now, depending on the circumstances, I use one of a few options:

Sometimes I just agree:  "Yes sweetie.  I am crying because we are in the hospital.  I wish we could be home.  But at least we are here together, right?" 

Or I explain,"I'm not crying because I am sad.  I am crying because someone said something nice to me.  Sometimes I cry even when I'm not sad." 

Or, I am honest (well, kinda):  "I'm okay, just a little sad."

And then, he says sweet things, but things that makes me feel even more guilty for crying.  Like, "It's okay Mama.  We will go home soon."

or "It's okay, Mama.  You don't have to be sad."

or just, "It's okay Mama (with a big hug)."

I don't want him to feel like he has to take care of me.  I don't.  But tears are tricky things. They make people want to take care of you.  They make others want to DO SOMETHING, even if/when you don't want them to.

I joked the other day that I need to hide my tears when I'm at the hospital because otherwise they will sic the social worker or the chaplain on me. (Truth be told, the chaplain is very sweet and has a Scottish accent, so I don't mind too much).  But I think the hospital must have a "CODE TEARS."  "Tears in room 6.  Tears in room 6. Must fix.  Must fix."  It is hard to watch other people in pain.  I get that. 

Most of the time when I cry, I just want to be left alone. But other times, I don't even realize how much I need someone to reach out to me.

Last week when it was Andrew's birthday I had such a hard time holding it together.  There we were, sitting in the hospital, on his birthday, getting chemo and it was just too much.  I spent the whole day crying.  (It is hard to hide from Andrew and everyone else for a whole day.) 

My nurse noticed and was very sweet (quite a change from "Ursula.")  She took me "under her wing" for the day.  And honestly, I needed it.  My tears were a message, and I couldn't hide it.  Thankfully, she interpreted correctly.

Sometimes the solution is just to cry and cry and cry.  But I can't to do it all the time, and I don't want to.

It is hard to balance it.  It is hard to control emotions that have their own sense of timing.  It is hard to cognitively force back tears, even with the best of intentions.  So Andrew will see me cry.  The nurses will see me cry...(and the social worker, and the Scottish chaplain, and ...whether I like it or not, many people will see me cry.)

But I continue to try to keep those "Jack-in-the-Box" tears hidden and repressed for those safe and private moments...

But then, when the kids are asleep, when the door is locked, when his shoulder is ready, when my pillow is positioned...  I turn that crank.

I turn that crank and let 'em spring.

I let 'em rip.