Who Teaches Us Not to Cry?

When we were at Grandma and Grandpa's house, there was to be no crying.  I was a highly sensitive child (now I am a highly sensitive adult), and cried when I felt insecure or angry, which was much of the time.

When I was four or five, we went on a family vacation together to the beach: my mom, brother, grandparents. We stayed in their camper. For reasons I don't remember, I was crying one night. Grandma towered over me and said in an almost-growl, "Now stop crying!"

You, reader, understand how, as a human, this approach is bound to backfire, and instead of quieting and assuring the child's soul, it will only ruffle it further. My mother was wisely unwilling to get in the way of my grandmother. Later, though, I asked my mother what had happened. Why had my grandmother told me not to cry when I was feeling upset? And why had she, my mom, not rescued me?

My mom's response was a brief history: my grandmother had told her own children all their lives not to cry. This had wounded my mother, who is also quite sensitive, but she had learned to bear the pain more quietly, or at least not in the presence of my grandmother. From my grandmother, I later learned that her mother had always told her own children not to cry. "And she never said, 'I love you,' your Great Grandmother Mae," explained Mom, "You just had to know it." And so my grandmother had also lived her life, not saying, "I love you." You just had to know it somehow.

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I visited my grandmother today. A few minutes into our visit, I said, "I have news to tell you." Her face lightened. I know she was expecting me to tell her that I had found a wonderful boyfriend, that I thought he was the one, and that we'd be getting married in six months, would she be free on October the 10th to play "Here Comes the Bride"?

Instead, I told her the actual news, "I'm going back into teaching this year. I'm moving to Morocco at the end of this July, and I'm staying there for two years."

She stared for just a moment, her face fallen, "I could just cry right now."

But she didn't cry right then.

We talked about Morocco for a little while. Then we spent all afternoon avoiding the subjects of the heart. She is often somewhat belligerent about my opinions and annoyed when I make jokes. And it was all completely worse because I knew she was despondent over my pending departure in July, though she didn't say so. It wears on a person not to speak out their fears and hopes. I felt totally spent when 2 o'clock came.

I began to gather my things, make my way to the door. She hugged me, and with tears in her eyes she held me close to her, "I know you have to go [to Morocco], and I won't stand in your way. But I love you."

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When we're born, our very first thing to do is to cry. It means we're alive.