Why do you cry?

My son asks the best questions. We are driving on a Friday night to drop the kids off at their dad’s house. The traffic lights are reflecting red in the drops of mild rain on my windscreen, and the wipers are making a dull, low screech.

‘Do you cry easily, Mum?’ and then ‘When was the last time you cried?’

This morning, I said. And no, I don’t cry easily. I cry for weird things, I think?

I teared up this morning in the doctor’s office. She was just telling me stuff, and I felt validated. I don’t know. I teared up when I told Lucy’s sports teacher last term about the time she took a shot on the whistle at netball as a lifelong defender and won a tied game, the last of the season. But yea I didn’t cry when Aunty Mega died.

‘I know,’ said Isaac.

‘I think I cry more when something is good.’ I say, trying to work out the ins and outs of cry triggers.

I have huge feelings about my sister’s death and feel all the grief holes, but my feelings manifest more as anger and frustration. Not anger at anyone or anything, just I am short, and I can’t process anything.

I think about this in the shower tonight… why my philosopher son, who is only 11, has always thought deeply about things. And what triggers a cry?

I am unsure of the biological or evolutionary reason or need for tears. I do know that when my migraine manifests as an intense sinus headache, the first shed of tears is an actual relief of pain. A good sob, however, flourishes in a proper congestion headache, which doesn’t help. Tears invariably invoke sympathy. ‘Yes, said Isaac, like when you cry and say you are a bad mum and you are disappointed in yourself, it really makes me reflect on my behaviour and give you a hug.’ ‘It is not true.’ He says.

I think it is important to express how you feel. I really don’t hold back in that realm. So why has it been so hard to cry?

Crying is nice. Sobbing not so nice. I enjoy the powerful positive feelings that roll into a messy bundle of hopes and fears and breakthroughs all together. A mash of emotions. I get mushed up when I witness others’ big moments. I have teared up at work, watching people finally pass the test to become Australian citizens, after overcoming immense hardship, reading my son’s report card to say that he is the kindest and most caring soul and seeing lonely imagery of people sitting by themselves in thought. But the really, really big feels I have become drops.

My grief sits like a cannonball on a shelf and, at random times, rolls off and smashes through the floor in front of me and takes my balance with it. There are no easy tears, only chasms that I fall through.

I found this framed picture in my sister’s things. I can’t ask her what this is. I don’t know.

Any ideas welcome.

WHY