She cried easily – at every harsh word, every slap, every hit, every slight.
I watched and learned that crying made him rage more intensely. “I’ll give you a reason to cry!” when the baby wailed as his mother whimpered and sobbed.
I watched, and learned.
No one would make or see me cry.
Except Lassie. Family tv night I cried silently- great crocodile tears rolled down my cheeks as Lassie faced death. He laughed.
A child alone, I cried as I read, as I feared a future trapped in that world, as I contemplated life knowing I was unlovable.
An adult, I usually cried only in the arms of alcohol, or a silly show. Lovers who witnessed my tears, who held and consoled me, they inevitably left; I knew I was unlovable.
So this lifetime of guarded tears ran full-tilt into the pain of a parent’s death, and is crashing upon me. Tears strangle in a flurry of everyday minutiae. Driving. Seeing her things. That damn dog. And 8:36 pm.
Once again, alone and crying aloud.