When All You Can Do Is Cry...Then Cry

While I believe in the power of a good cry, I do not cry all that much. I feel things, sure, but I don't ugly cry all that much. It's always a relief when I do let it all out because I usually feel so good afterward.

Last week, I took advantage of "Tightwad Tuesday" at our local movie theater and went to see The Glass Castle. I had read the memoir years ago and really appreciated it. Now that I am writing my life story, I thought it might be good research to see the movie. I also just really wanted to see how they took the author's words and translated them to the screen.

I enjoyed the movie. It was not as detailed as the book (how could it be?), and there was a lot that was left out, but I loved the acting and the story as a whole. It was a lovely way to spend a few hours on a cold and wet Tuesday afternoon.

There was an aspect of the movie that made me cry. It was not about babies or stillbirth or anything that makes current day me cry. It was about the relationship between the father and his daughter, and it wrecked me.

I make no secret of the fact that my dad and I had a rocky past. I have spent years of my life dealing with the aftermath of how his words and actions impacted me. I did not think that all these years later, I could still be moved to tears by certain memories.

Once the tears started, I could not get them to stop. The tears about my dad and the sadness that came with them turned into tears about Allie and the fact that she was not going to be in any of the back to school pictures that have been splashed all over my social media accounts. I love seeing how grown up and adorable and fashionable and sassy all the kids in my life have become. But last week, all I felt was sorry that there would be no pictures of my first born. It was like a blanket of grief was sitting on my chest. I found it hard to breathe.

I cried in the car. I cried in the shower. One night I started to cry to Gary, and he looked at me with so much compassion. He was supportive and tried to help, but I felt empty and alone and sad. Grief can be so isolating.

The day after I went to the movies, I drove to a local charity and donated all of my old maternity clothes. I told Gary that they were the last connection I had to Allie and that it tore at my heart to let them go. I knew, though, that they would make some other mom very happy (and well dressed!) and there was no need for them to sit in a box in my basement anymore.

They were not my last connection to her. How dramatic! My head knows that. By my heart just could not take it. And neither could my tears.

Eventually, I ran out of tears. The sadness passed. Happiness found its way back in. I packed up my things and Miranda’s things, and we went to the beach for a few days with some family. We had such a great time soaking up the end of summer, living life, and spending time in the present and not the past.

Now I am home. The tears seem to be gone. There is sand in most of my clothes. I can breathe again. The best way to survive is to work through your grief. I am happy that I did. It sure feels good here on the other side.