But...Why cry?

On Sunday I ugly cried. Ugh, even here and now I hate to admit it. I am not a crier. Like ever. A few months ago the topic came up and Billy, my ten year old son, turned to me and said mom, I’ve never seen you cry. To which I replied, that’s because I don’t see the point. I don’t like to cry. It messes up my face and makes my nose run.

When I’ve thought a good cry would really help me out, I’d watch sad movies; a dog dies, a kid gets hurt, Keanu Reeves gets married, something, anything in an attempt to force the tears out. Like when you have to throw up but can’t so you stick your finger down your throat. I was hoping for some sort of bodily reaction. Nope. Nada.

So Saturday rolls around and happens to be Billy’s first day of football. He is soooo nervous and soooo excited. I’m nervous and excited for him too especially because football freaks me out. I know nothing about it other then there is potential for him to get hurt AND it’s a tough sport. It took him years of begging me to give him this opportunity. Also, because his dad died. Going to a sporting game for my boys is the worst reminder that they don’t have a father. All those dads out there teaching their boys. Encouraging them. Knowing what things are like penalties and fumbles and mouth guards.

On the drive to the sports grounds my son turns to me and says: Mom, I’m scared.

Me:       What are you scared of?

Him:      I don’t know. What if I’m bad at it.

Me:       Do you trust yourself?

Him:      Yes.

Me:       Do you trust your coaches?

Him:      Yes.

Me:       Do you think you will be perfect?

Him:      No, I’m still learning.

Me:       Why are you playing?

Him:      Because I love football!

Me:       Then, trust that your body will follow your mind’s direction. Once you get out on the field you will know exactly what to do and how to handle yourself especially if you believe you can do it.

Then, I said a silent prayer to his dad: Rod, you better be there for your son. I don’t care what you’re doing in heaven, you need to take a break and be there for him because I’ve worked damn hard to raise him and he’s a good kid and he needs you right now even if you’re dead. So show up!

Billy ended up scoring the first touchdown of the season for his team. They were down 13 to zero. After he scored, his buddy scored, the other team fumbled and then Billy’s team won 15/13. I couldn’t believe it. I was so happy for him and he was so proud of himself.

The next day I attended a group meditation. No biggie, I do this All The Time. But for some reason on this day, the facilitator meditates us into a quiet space and then invites any past love ones or guides to come through and speak to us. Who shows up? That’s right, Billy’s dad. He gives me a big old hug and says I’m always here and I’m never to busy to show up for you or the boys.

That was it. Big Ugly Tears.

I thought I had done my grieving. His passing happened six years ago. We’ve moved on but still hold him in our hearts. But for some reason I needed that validation. I needed Billy to feel good about himself out on that field. The only boy out on that field without a dad there to cheer him on. To teach him all the football pointers. I needed it. I needed him. Until that moment of seeing him in my minds eye and realizing not just what Billy was missing, but what I was missing could I finally cry. And feel the pain that I’ve shielded myself from for years.  

I’d like to say I feel better but I’m still embarrassed to be the one snatching up all the tissues in the meditation room but as it turns out there were three other widows there who shared their stories and their hugs. Another woman was grieving a divorce she was currently going through. I made a ton of heartfelt connections that day. I also, humbly, learned something about that horrible word; Vulnerability. Ugh. I think I need to go back to writing about cats…