Tears to Vindicate

Something radical happened to me when dad died. Before, I could placate and ignore my emotions by focusing on other people’s problems. As long as your problem seemed bigger, I could tamp down my feelings to give you center stage.

After, no one’s problems seemed big. A promotion you didn’t get? Your husband is a mess? You have a mean boss? Your commute is too long? Sorry, but no one died.

It’s a lonely place to be. And to me, terrifying. I wasn’t used to navigating my own emotions and now I was swimming in a pacific sized ocean of turbulent feelings. All of a sudden, I was center stage and the spotlight was bright and hot on my face.

There was nothing to do but feel and grapple with my new and fractured reality. But, reason and logic couldn’t fix this.

About a month after the accident, I wrote:

“I had no idea how long I could cry. I started to wonder if I would ever not cry. Then I’d cry so much I thought I would never cry again. And without warning, after ten minutes, an hour, even a day later, I’d sob. I’d weep.”

My body took over. My tears were an act of violence against a reality I couldn’t accept. A friend told me, “There’s a strange vindication we feel in crying, like we’re declaring again, ‘This is inexcusable and shouldn’t have happened.’” Tears felt like progress.

There is grace in our body’s ability to process pain when reason fails. I sensed intercession with weeping: “the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.” Somewhere deep, I understood my tears were holy.