Watershed

In the oncology office there is a box of tissues in every room.  It’s not because everyone has an allergy.  There are tons of tough discussions going on where tissues come in handy.  I’ve had several of those talks over the years, I didn’t cry at those moments, but I did many times later in private.  At this point in my life it seems like I shouldn’t have any tears left, but I know for sure there’s plenty more where they came from.  As I’ve grown older tears drop now not because of my pain, but because of my feelings for other people.   

When you first cry it’s for all kinds of reasons, most have nothing to do with actual pain.  It’s usually trying to get attention for something you want.  When my three sons were all around three years old (that was painful) I’d tell Diane, “those kids cry 20 times an hour.”  She fearcely defended them, but then tried counting once and hit 20 in 20 minutes flat.  I used to cry when when I fell off my bike, but I discovered that I didn’t cry when no one was looking.  Crying eventually loses its usefulness for attention gathering.

Now I cry spontaneously for no reason other than memories even when its about good things.  Whenever I’m at Notre Dame stadium with 90,000 people singing together The National Anthem, watching the flag rise, I cry about nothing in particular; its just the moment.  I once thought it was about all the tuition checks I wrote to the school.  Those were really painful to write, but it gave three young men a chance to make a difference in the world.   When Diane drove me home after open heart surgery I was riding in the back seat staring out the window and for no reason I just burst into tears.  She stopped the car real quick and said, “are you all right?”  I had no idea what brought that on, I got worried the surgeon left a spigot open in me.  I cry now a lot more for happiness, ie. Devin’s wedding, when Quinn smiles, when I hear “Danny Boy” on St. Patrick’s Day, when USC or Michigan lose, when Diane and I watch Sunsets; I can’t tell you why or what triggers it. But it’s all good.

I do know when you see large masses of people hurting it’s difficult to comprehend.  Whether its natural disasters, war, or poverty we cry because of its awfulness, but we cry mostly because we feel helpless.  When I lived in Oklahoma City we’d go downtown regularly to view the Bombing Memorial, read the history and names, and absorb the silence of this senseless tragedy.  What many visitors don’t see, however, is directly across the street in plain sight.  There standing by Himself facing the Memorial is a towering statue of Christ with His hands in His face.  The plaque at His feet reads “And Jesus Wept.”  It took me years to grasp the clear message that no one who passes through this life is exempt from its mystery or misery.  The one mystery important to me, however, is knowing whoever you extend a hand to in their sadness will reduce your own tears ten times over.  Your extension of comfort, even when it’s small, makes a large difference more so than you know.  Slainte.