Story of tears

I cried the night before the funeral.
My people had arrived en masse and songs had been recorded. I wanted voices that loved him to be the ones that sang those songs of goodbye.
Videos had been made.

Montages of him- as a boy. As he grew into a man. That moment he became mine and then the unfolding beauty of him as a dad.

So that night before the funeral,  all my people had gathered around me. Food was lovingly made and shared as strangers introduced themselves and instantly became comrades in this task of a beautiful goodbye.
My brother called me into the study to see the completed videos that would play at his funeral. And I cried.
I sobbed.
I howled.
In that room... watching that screen.
I felt the enormous weight of loss.
I asked some of my people to watch it with me.
I watched it again.
And again.
I watched it until the tears subsided and I could smile at the images.
We left the study and my dining room had filled with everyone, standing around the table. Waiting.
The songs were ready.
We listened.
And I cried.
I sobbed.
I howled.
In that room... listening to the music that would whisper all the goodbyes we wanted to say.
I was held close as I felt the enormous weight of my loss.

I'm so glad for that night.

I'm so glad that we had the opportunity to allow the heartbreak to be real and tangible.
To cling tight to each other in that moment of missing him entirely and completely.
We cried.
We sobbed.
We howled.

You see.
I needed to go to the place of deep grief that the funeral would insist on supplying.
Funerals are like that.
They are a goodbye of earthly, physical permanence.
I needed to howl the ugly type tears.
I chose to do that in my study.
I closed the door and I cried.

I guess this is the story of my tears.
They come in waves.
I try to keep them to myself.
But sometimes they are inconvenient and demanding in their release.

I made it to the traffic lights one afternoon last week. I was leaving work and the absence of him hit me hard.
And the flood gates smashed open.
I drove to our beach and staggered, in my high heels,  to the waters edge.
And I howled.
A lady walking her dog came close and asked in a concerned and, possibly slightly frightened tone, if I needed help.
No... I just need to cry.

I went to an afternoon tea this week.
It was held in the chapel at the Mater hospital and it was a beautiful remembrance time- a collective of people who had said that goodbye to family and friends were invited to come and be together in a time of remembering.
I'll be honest- it was so tough going back there. The smell.
The hallways.
They had become our final battleground.
They housed the memories of the last moments of his life.

Everything about those last days and weeks are tucked away in little corners of my mind.

Sometimes they demand an audience and I go there. I let them take centre stage and I'm suddenly remembering the way he smiled when his sons walked into the hospital room. How he didn't want to eat in those final days... Until someone delivered a tray of chocolate and caramel slice. His very favourite. I kind of love the idea that the last thing he ate was caramel slice.

My tears were shared that beautiful afternoon.
They were mine and they were ours.
It was beautiful to be in a place where a conversation with sobs was expected.

And today. 
I'm at school.
This is the story of my tears.
My inconvenient and demanding tears.

I was in an assembly.
And I heard a story about a family who suffered the loss of a husband and dad to cancer.
And it was a beautiful story.
A Christmas Story.
About giving and love.

Except it isn't a story to me.
It's my life.
My days.
My tears.

And out of nowhere.
The howling.
The sobbing.
The wail of grief.
It hit me.
Hard.

At school.

But that's ok.
I made it outside the assembly hall...
And I made it to the grass.
And I threw up my coffee.
And I wailed.
I howled.

Tears are amazing.
They are healing and wrecking and powerful.

I've tried to keep my tears to myself.
To close the door and cry.
But.
Sometimes it doesn't work.
And they demand a release.
They don't care that I'm at work.
Driving.
Cooking.
Happy.
Tired.

The story of my tears is this:
How worthwhile and wonderful my love for him is.
That they deserve these tears.

He gets to have these tears.