Cry, Cry Again
Jul. 1st, 2008 02:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfield"Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward."
- Kurt Vonnegut
Yesterday, as my parents and brother were dropping me off at the airport, I was barely holding it together. J., sitting next to me in the back seat, was giving me the hairy eyeball and asking why I was practically catatonic.
Family car rides to the airport are already stressful, what with my father's military-style conscientiousness regarding precision of schedule and my mother's obsessive-compulsive inquiries as to my packing inventory (i.e., "Did you remember your sunglasses? Do you have your keys? Are you sure you didn't want to bring back some more meatballs?)*
*This did not stop me from forgetting my personal cell phone charger, which is now in the trusted hands of the U.S. Postal Service.
But these were extraordinary circumstances, what with the length of my stay, the extended family left behind and the looming issues that brought me home early in the first place.
I was okay hugging my father goodbye, in my strongest voice instructing him to stay healthy. I felt myself wavering a little bit as I hugged my brother goodbye, and asked him to look after everyone for the next few days. But when I got to my mother and kissed her on the cheek, the floodgates opened and I started crying.
This was not an elegant, beautiful, solitary tear gliding down the side of my face. It was a whimpering, blubbering bawl complete with wheezing and sniffling, like a cross between Steel Magnolias and The Exorcist. When my mother asked "what's wrong," not only was I reduced to vague, knee-jerk answers like "it's hard" and "it's too much," but my throat was too full to fully verbalize them. My dad then stepped in to hug me again, which didn't really help to calm me down.
Eventually I was able to compose myself, wave goodbye and watch them pull away, although my eyes were bloodshot and swollen for another half-hour, still subject to a random, hair-trigger emotional response.
On top of all the emotions that led up to this outburst, the tears made me feel exposed, embarassed and pathetic. It was a powerful and probably overdue catharsis for me, and at least now I can own it rather than be ashamed of it. But the moment, in retrospect, still makes me feel ... weak.
I had held up so well, being the man or at least a man for my family, only to come apart at the last possible moment. If there's a saving grace to my humiliation, perhaps it will encourage everyone in my immediate and extended family to let their guard down and let their feelings go. It's the kind of thing that families are made for.
- Kurt Vonnegut
Yesterday, as my parents and brother were dropping me off at the airport, I was barely holding it together. J., sitting next to me in the back seat, was giving me the hairy eyeball and asking why I was practically catatonic.
Family car rides to the airport are already stressful, what with my father's military-style conscientiousness regarding precision of schedule and my mother's obsessive-compulsive inquiries as to my packing inventory (i.e., "Did you remember your sunglasses? Do you have your keys? Are you sure you didn't want to bring back some more meatballs?)*
*This did not stop me from forgetting my personal cell phone charger, which is now in the trusted hands of the U.S. Postal Service.
But these were extraordinary circumstances, what with the length of my stay, the extended family left behind and the looming issues that brought me home early in the first place.
I was okay hugging my father goodbye, in my strongest voice instructing him to stay healthy. I felt myself wavering a little bit as I hugged my brother goodbye, and asked him to look after everyone for the next few days. But when I got to my mother and kissed her on the cheek, the floodgates opened and I started crying.
This was not an elegant, beautiful, solitary tear gliding down the side of my face. It was a whimpering, blubbering bawl complete with wheezing and sniffling, like a cross between Steel Magnolias and The Exorcist. When my mother asked "what's wrong," not only was I reduced to vague, knee-jerk answers like "it's hard" and "it's too much," but my throat was too full to fully verbalize them. My dad then stepped in to hug me again, which didn't really help to calm me down.
Eventually I was able to compose myself, wave goodbye and watch them pull away, although my eyes were bloodshot and swollen for another half-hour, still subject to a random, hair-trigger emotional response.
On top of all the emotions that led up to this outburst, the tears made me feel exposed, embarassed and pathetic. It was a powerful and probably overdue catharsis for me, and at least now I can own it rather than be ashamed of it. But the moment, in retrospect, still makes me feel ... weak.
I had held up so well, being the man or at least a man for my family, only to come apart at the last possible moment. If there's a saving grace to my humiliation, perhaps it will encourage everyone in my immediate and extended family to let their guard down and let their feelings go. It's the kind of thing that families are made for.
