My stoic German family was
Long on laughs
But short on tears.
Around the supper table
The jokes flew,
But somehow, we sensed
Tears were taboo,
And I kept a stiff upper lip
Too.
But the battering blows of
Life have
Pummeled me,
Softened me,
And as an oldster
I'm relearning how to
Weep.
At Jack's memorial service
Dear Carol slipped a
"Grief kit" into my hand.
The zippered bag held
Kleenexes and a
Tiny bottle with a Scripture
Scroll stuffed inside.
"You keep track of all my
Sorrows.
You have collected all my
Tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in
Your book." (Psalm 56:8)
The clear, wee vessel
Reminds me that my tears
Aren't wasted.
Each one counts to Him.
And, so, I've begun to
Cry.
When the words to
"Give Me Jesus" pop into
My head.
When I get a note from Sue.
When I drive away from my
Daughter's house
And head back home
Alone.
When I see Jack's ties
Hanging on his closet door.
When I find his note
Slipped inside a book.
When I write a poem.
When I pray with my
Granddaughter on the
Phone.
I let the tears flow freely now,
And releasing them
Brings relief.
I no longer try to
Stuff them in,
And I wonder why I
Ever did.