Night journey through sleep
Thoughts stream purple and yellow
Like clouds and sunlight
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
Fossilized Tears
Fossilized Tears
I was reading "The Thirteenth Tale" by Diane Setterfield the other night when I couldn't sleep. The idea of unshed tears came up and she said that they fosselized . I really liked that image. I've noticed over the years that tears not cried have tended to build up and block later tears from getting out until I'm so backed up I'm afraid to cry for fear I'll never stop.
I remember the first time I blocked the tears from falling. I was ten. My mom had just married my step-dad, and we'd moved into a new house. My cocker Spanial, Lucky had been relegated to the corner of the back yard chained to the fence post to limit her relieving and living area. It was my job to clean her daily production from the small rocks and gravel in her area. This was no minor task for a blind kid depending on high contrast and touch to locate said product. After a couple times of missing a few spots, Paul said I hadn't done my job and had to take the dog to the animal shelter. Lucky had been my companion for a couple years of latchkey childhood. She'd been there when I was home from school and when I was sad and alone. She was there during my mom's second divorce and during her searching for daddy #3. She was my best friend. I walked her on her leash to the kennel gate and put her in and said good-by, and after that the animal shelter and my step-dad and everything around me disappeared and I could only think "He's not going to make me cry. I'll never cry again."
And I didn't cry again for 7 years. I didn't cry through school snubbings, through fingers slammed in gym doors, through junior high threats in the girls bathroom. I didn't cry when my sister left home at 16 or so, or when I left home to live with my father and step-mother to get away from the horrible school I was bussed to because I was blind. I didn't cry until my junior year when my best friend broke up with his girl friend, my other best friend. But even that was just a sun break in a cloudy sky. I had turned off the tears when I was ten and they were backing up solid as stone with very few leaks.
By the time my fiancé, Jeff, was in Vietnam giving me good reason to want to cry, the dam was strong and floods had to squeeze out between the tiniest cracks in the wall. I remember my dear friend, Doug, handing me a roll of TP and saying tell me when you're through. Well, you can't get going with a good cry with that kind of encouragement, so I just quit. And the tears calcified, Jeff made it home and life went on. When Jeff chose drugs and I chose graduation, there were no tears. I didn't dare cry and miss something important I had to take care of in the meantime. I hugged my dog and my cats, had friends over for lasagna and carried on.
The dam almost was shattered one day walking through Sears after Mike and I had moved to Anaheim. We were passing the baby furniture section and I realized I wasn't going to have any use for that, and I really wanted babies. We talked about it, went through gene counseling at UCLA, agreed if a baby was going to be born blind, what better parents than me who did it so well and Mike who had developed the CCTV reading device for blind people. So we decided to have Traci, and the tears disappeared again.
There were sorrows and disappointments throughout the years, but nothing to cry about. I managed to move out and take Tracie safely away, but she begged me to go back to her Daddy, and he made it impossible for me not to with his threats of taking her from me, but I didn't cry. I just went back. And Bill was my reward for trying so hard to keep our family going. Who could ask for better?
When Mike announced he was leaving us, I didn't cry. I sat staring at the TV screen playing Tetris hour after hour until the pain was numbed and the tears stopped hammering at my eyes.
Now as the years go by, I notice that tears are eroding through the wall sometimes. I still can't cry when Bill is almost killed by a drunk driver, or when Tracie's wonderful family dissolves unexpectedly. Crying over those huge sorrows for my precious children would surely drown me in never-stopping tears, and I have to be strong in case they need me. But I notice now I'm leaking. I'm crying little bits at sappy stories, glergy animal pictures, or snatches of songs that remind me of...
It isn't the heart that turns to stone, it's the eyes.
I remember the first time I blocked the tears from falling. I was ten. My mom had just married my step-dad, and we'd moved into a new house. My cocker Spanial, Lucky had been relegated to the corner of the back yard chained to the fence post to limit her relieving and living area. It was my job to clean her daily production from the small rocks and gravel in her area. This was no minor task for a blind kid depending on high contrast and touch to locate said product. After a couple times of missing a few spots, Paul said I hadn't done my job and had to take the dog to the animal shelter. Lucky had been my companion for a couple years of latchkey childhood. She'd been there when I was home from school and when I was sad and alone. She was there during my mom's second divorce and during her searching for daddy #3. She was my best friend. I walked her on her leash to the kennel gate and put her in and said good-by, and after that the animal shelter and my step-dad and everything around me disappeared and I could only think "He's not going to make me cry. I'll never cry again."
And I didn't cry again for 7 years. I didn't cry through school snubbings, through fingers slammed in gym doors, through junior high threats in the girls bathroom. I didn't cry when my sister left home at 16 or so, or when I left home to live with my father and step-mother to get away from the horrible school I was bussed to because I was blind. I didn't cry until my junior year when my best friend broke up with his girl friend, my other best friend. But even that was just a sun break in a cloudy sky. I had turned off the tears when I was ten and they were backing up solid as stone with very few leaks.
By the time my fiancé, Jeff, was in Vietnam giving me good reason to want to cry, the dam was strong and floods had to squeeze out between the tiniest cracks in the wall. I remember my dear friend, Doug, handing me a roll of TP and saying tell me when you're through. Well, you can't get going with a good cry with that kind of encouragement, so I just quit. And the tears calcified, Jeff made it home and life went on. When Jeff chose drugs and I chose graduation, there were no tears. I didn't dare cry and miss something important I had to take care of in the meantime. I hugged my dog and my cats, had friends over for lasagna and carried on.
The dam almost was shattered one day walking through Sears after Mike and I had moved to Anaheim. We were passing the baby furniture section and I realized I wasn't going to have any use for that, and I really wanted babies. We talked about it, went through gene counseling at UCLA, agreed if a baby was going to be born blind, what better parents than me who did it so well and Mike who had developed the CCTV reading device for blind people. So we decided to have Traci, and the tears disappeared again.
There were sorrows and disappointments throughout the years, but nothing to cry about. I managed to move out and take Tracie safely away, but she begged me to go back to her Daddy, and he made it impossible for me not to with his threats of taking her from me, but I didn't cry. I just went back. And Bill was my reward for trying so hard to keep our family going. Who could ask for better?
When Mike announced he was leaving us, I didn't cry. I sat staring at the TV screen playing Tetris hour after hour until the pain was numbed and the tears stopped hammering at my eyes.
Now as the years go by, I notice that tears are eroding through the wall sometimes. I still can't cry when Bill is almost killed by a drunk driver, or when Tracie's wonderful family dissolves unexpectedly. Crying over those huge sorrows for my precious children would surely drown me in never-stopping tears, and I have to be strong in case they need me. But I notice now I'm leaking. I'm crying little bits at sappy stories, glergy animal pictures, or snatches of songs that remind me of...
It isn't the heart that turns to stone, it's the eyes.
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