crying less, but crying, still.

While feeling sad earlier today, I ponder calling an old friend.
Right when I decide to do it, I happen to see his status on that social network that I don’t really want to mention here, for some reason–not in this space, not today–and I read:
“Dropped my phone in the toilet–email me, if you need me.”

Well, shoot.
And change of plans.

So, I call my mom and I can’t keep the sound of tears from my voice.
But it’s okay to cry; it has to be okay to cry.
And here is the truth: I don’t cry as much as I used to.
What does the Psalmist say? Tears have been my food, day and night…
At one point, I could read that and think, I know what you mean, David. And oh, way to go on killing that giant. I mean, I’m not a huge proponent of killing, myself, but if one has to kill, I suppose offing a giant who is bent on annihilating and enslaving everyone you know and love–not to mention all of the people you don’t know, since it’s, like, a whole nation and stuff–I suppose, that’s the way to go.
But not so much anymore.
I mean, my tears are not so constant now.
Read: growth. Progress. Healing. Mascara.

“These are just feelings,” my mom tells me, for maybe the five hundredth time.
And I need to hear it, for maybe the five hundredth time.
“Feelings change; you won’t always feel this way.”

I can see a picture in these words with which she paints.
Slowly, the sentences drop into my heart; they feel like hope, smell like hope, taste like hope, sound like hope, look like hope–and with this much overwhelming evidence, one must conclude that they have hope.
I mean, it’s elementary, really.

And then, later, a friend calls me.
“What’s going on? What are you feeling? Why are you sad?” he asks.
And I let myself talk and I am crying and apologizing for crying and he’s telling me not to apologize and then he’s calling someone a shithead (on my behalf), which makes me laugh, and now I am crying and laughing at the same time and at least, at the very least, I feel alive.

And the night is a wonder of traffic and headlights and people in cars that are passing me by, again and again, it would seem; but then there’s here and there’s now. Connection. Laughing and crying. With a friend who cares. And that’s a contrast to all the people passing me by, and I take note.

“It’s about choices, Jess,” my friend tells me. “You could lose yourself in a million different ways. Fill up that space in your mind and heart with some mindless guy who likes the way you look and maybe you’d even feel a little better for a little bit. But, I know you. And I think you’d lose yourself and I know you’re waiting for something better, standing on your own two feet, feeling what you need to feel, confronting every piece of your heart all the time.”

I sit and let the tears roll down my face as I listen and every part of me agrees–even, maybe even especially, the part of me that keeps crying. And I am not suddenly happy, no–I am to my emotions as the Cheshire Cat is to his smile. He eventually gets there, and when he does, all of him is smiling. But his grins starts first at the tip of his tail before it works up to lighting his whole face with joy; and no one would guess what’s coming by looking at that flick of a tail, I’d bet, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t steadfastly on its way.

And so happy sometimes takes a while with me. And I didn’t feel it much today, but that’s okay, it doesn’t mean it isn’t close by. Maybe even already at the tip of my tail (metaphorically speaking, of course). But I will say that I stopped crying; I greeted my niece on her birthday with a kiss and a smile.

I did so happily, as a matter of fact.
And also, the sky was streaked with purple at dusk tonight.
So, there’s that.
It made me a little breathless to see it; and though that’s not exactly happy, that’s something very good that I wouldn’t trade, I think.