Unbidden tears

In the grand scheme of things I have so many things to feel happy about – and I do, however, right now, in this moment I feel incredibly sad.

It’s the little things that trigger it.

If I were to recount them you may shake your head in disbelief or even laugh at my attention to seemingly futile things. But, in this minute, they are not minor.

I’ll share two of my recent triggers to sadness. I was sharing a neighbour’s birthday celebrations and she has been the most wonderful and kind woman to my son and I over the years, then I found myself in floods of tears (much as I am while I am writing this). Mrs H is now 83 years old. She reminds me of the quiet but strong matriarch of an Italian dynasty. She lives alone across the street from me, well that is the theory – her children, grandchildren and hordes of relatives are constantly visiting, staying over and looking after her.

Well, this woman, with a multitude of her own family has taken a shine to my son, and every birthday (they share the same week) there is an exchange of gifts. Also, when Mrs H goes on her family holidays around the world she always brings a special present back for Morgan. She is so kind and lovely.

I have thanked her endlessly for her thoughtfulness and generosity. As the head of such a large, also generous, family I realised she has everything she could possibly need – she has repeatedly told me this as well. So I decided to write her a letter instead of just signing the usual birthday card with a few platitudes.

This is when I first started crying uncontrollably.

I wasn’t writing anything sad, on the contrary I was remembering her kindness over the past decade and more. I managed to prevent the tears splashing on the paper and smudging the ink but I still had red eyes when I went to deliver it with her box of chocolates (her one indulgence).

Writing that letter took me way beyond this street and Mrs H’s kindness. That’s why I cried.

Then later on in the same day there was a minor accident. There was no bloodshed or bones broken. What happened was a key ring got trapped in the door and smashed my heather fob. It’s true, nobody died. I’ve just had it as a treasured gift for these past four years and I was used to it, it meant a lot to me. It’s just Scottish heather and there’s plenty more where it came from but it still made me a little sad.



So there you have it. Writing letters and missing Scottish mementos can make me cry. Who’d have thought?!

Things fall apart

When you prepare for an event every part of your body is anticipating it. Then it happens. You find that it has passed and marvel at the ease with which you handled it, especially after all that build up.

Then, when you least expect it, like when you are saying goodnight to your child for instance, things fall apart.

Unbidden tears start to form in the corners of your eyes. Just one at first, then another in the other eye, then both eyes start to compete in the rush to expel water. You try to hide or disguise the renegade tears as signs of tiredness. Quickly wiping them away and trying to keep an even light tone of voice you slip away from the beautiful child falling asleep in the bed.

Well, that’s what I did anyway.

Then when I’m alone, and she is fast asleep I let the barriers down and really let things fall apart.

That’s better now.

Virgin thoughts and throwing the rattle

Sometimes the best thing to do is not to think.

What I really mean, is not to think too much. I occasionally have a thought and instead of just acting on it I will dissect it, turn it over, manipulate it and eventually destroy it.

Why do I do this? After all, the initial thought was a gut reaction, so there must be some truth or mileage in it – surely?

Anyway, I had a thought yesterday. I acted on that thought yesterday. I acted on the first thought before I had time for any more thoughts that would bury it.

When I went to sleep I had a small niggling doubt that I had done the wrong thing but, just before I eventually slid into my slumber, another brighter thought appeared in my mind. I went to sleep knowing that I had done the right thing.

The reason for this sudden certainty at such a late hour? It’s simple really, I realised that I trusted myself that no matter what the outcome was I would be OK with it.

I have begun to realise that far too often we (well, I say we, but I mean ‘I’) act as if the only outcome is the one we have a preference for. We behave like spoilt children who will have a tantrum and throw the rattle out of the pram if we do not get what we want.

I guess in some ways I’m still growing up.

The ability to accept whatever outcome occurs seems to me a sign of some maturity of outlook. And that sounds good to me.

The other bonus to this not-thinking-too-much mode is that I open myself up to different possibilities when I act on my virgin thoughts. Most of them I could never even begin to imagine but they become real once I have released my thought without damaging it.

That leads to contentment all around after that – no muddied thinking or screaming to deal with at all!

Mountains of Pleasure and Valleys of Loss

Let me start this off by saying I have a good life, I really do. But sometimes, in the middle of the mountains of pleasure that I experience for the majority of the time, I can fall into the deep, deep crevasse that is my personal valley of loss.

It is a long way down. I don’t know when I will stumble into it, but when I do I just stay still and cry.

The tears that flow do not trickle out of me, they pour rapidly and my body shakes with the immense pain of the loss. And it’s not just one loss that I feel when I am temporarily trapped in this valley: it is all the losses of all my time. I feel total devastation.

This is not a trite recollection of some ancient time. This is fresh.

I am in the valley now.

I have been here before. However, I do know that my tears will provide the leverage to float me free of my depths and I will once again walk the mountain paths.

A memory triggered me and I slipped. Losing my footing I went into free fall. I’m not sure whether it was the bruising on the way down that hurts my chest now or the actual pain of ejecting the tears from my body, but I ache as I cry.

As I fell I reached out for something to save me, alas all I caught were more links to losses in my life and they tumbled down the valley with me.

As I sat, dejected on the floor, the images of people and places flickered before me. They will never be replaced, they are gone – forever. And that is why this journey into loss hurts so much each time it catches me unawares.

It is hard to see clearly as my eyes are filled with water, but my heart also replays the images with no loss of definition. So I remember it all.

And then, suddenly, I breathe. I exhale.

I notice the tears have stopped and I have the strength to stand again.

127 Hours dir. Danny Boyle

Falteringly at first I do stand up and then, looking up to the brilliant skies and welcoming faces that are peering down to me from the top of the mountain, I begin to climb back to the top. The people in my life now are calling me back; they are willing me to quickly ascend the valley to be with them. I smile and wipe away the tears as I climb.

It does not take too long before I am again on the mountain enjoying the pleasure with my friends and loved ones.

The loss is always there and I know that sometimes I will fall back into it. I also know that I always rise again.

Fighting fear

“Fear. It strikes silently but deeply. The pain starts to build deep in my stomach. A small bolus at first, then the size builds and swells across the entire breadth of my midriff. The sense of fear reaches up and grasps my throat. I now have difficulty in breathing. My whole body has joined in this reaction to meeting somebody. The person is not unknown. But the meeting is to talk about myself. Deep things within my heart. Can I do it? I’m not sure I can walk through the door, but know I must. The pain surges in a wave towards my breast bone. I glance at the clock and know I have just 6 minutes to calm my breathing down and reduce my pulse rate. I am so hot. I shake. Despite acknowledging what I feel, I still feel it. Fear. It won’t go away. I have to take it with me to see my counsellor. Shaking, I get out of the car and walk in. The room makes me spin. I sit down quickly and wait for my name to be called. All the time my stomach churns as if I was going to sit an exam.

She opens the door and smiles. I am not convinced but move towards her anyway. Fear goes in first and sits in a chair mocking me, daring me to speak from my heart. I cry for a while then the words start and fear subsides and starts to disappear in front of my eyes.”

August 2002 journal entry

© Marjorie H Morgan

Diamonds

Diamonds

The temperature rises,

the pressure builds

a lattice of emotions

bonds within

… then erupts

into the untamed waterfall,

each drop the perfect

tear

every one a diamond

uniquely constructed,

absent of all colour yet

full of the light of life.

Encased within

each tumbling sphere

lies the joys,

the pains,

the highs,

the lows,

all

created by my heart

then steadily expelled

from my body

through the optical valve.

Each diamond tear

coolly releases pressure

from within the hot volcano of my mind.

Transformation continues,

the diamonds lose their shape

and glow

the furnace of emotions

simmers as

embers turn to dry ash.

Welcoming winds clear

the hearth

(Be seen no more.)