I cried the other day in the shower. Delaney is sick and I thought, for just a moment, what if it's something horrible. She's been sick off and on (more on) for six months. What if it's something more? And just at the thought, I cried. Big, ugly crocodile tears flowed from my eyes, from deep in my soul, as I worried about what-if.
I cried the other night when Delaney grabbed Colton's heartbeat monkey and squeezed just right. The sound of his sweet heartbeat penetrated a cold, dark, sad place in my heart - Colton's spot - and I cried. Silent, steady streams of tears just rolling down my cheek. A smile broke through, though, as Delaney's eyes lit up with delight at the sound and she hugged the monkey tighter and giggled.
I cried when I got the email that my Molly Bear would be shipped in August. I cried because this perfect little bear will weigh just what my little Colton weighed and will forever be made just for him, in remembrance and honor of who he was.
I cried a little silent cry while at the playground with Delaney as I watched a little boy who had to be about Colton's age run around with reckless disregard through the jungle gym and clambered over the steps and bolted down the slide.
I cried when I read the PM reaching out to me about a mother struggling after her baby died of SIDS. A loss that I cannot even fathom. A loss that I still fear. I still check Delaney multiple times through the night to make sure she's breathing and just peacefully sleeping.
I find the more I cry, the more I connect and heal. Tears do not make me weak, they strengthen me. They connect me to moments, to others, to life. When I didn't cry, I was dead. I felt nothing. Reuniting with our tears, embracing them, allows us to feel.
I still cry. And that's a good thing.
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