I stopped crying when I was 7 years old. My parents divorced for the 2nd time. Then my mother said we were moving far away to Pittsburgh. I bawled my eyes out but nothing changed.
After that I decided I would never cry again.
Getting tough
After my parents divorced I was told, “You’re the man of the house now. You need to take care of your mother and sister”.
So I would get up in the early morning and tiptoe down stairs in the dark. My belt was wrapped around my hand with the buckle swinging freely like I had seen gang members do on TV.
I’d whisper into the dark, “I’ve got a belt and I will hurt you” to ward off any intruders who might have broken into my house to harm my family.
Once I got the lights on and saw the coast was clear, I could relax and get ready for school.
I did this for years while my sister and mother remained blissfully unaware of my role as their protector.
We moved to Pittsburgh that summer. I didn’t want to leave my home, my friends and my family. But I didn’t cry.
It was terrifying to be the new kid in school, live in a scary city and have no friends. But I didn’t cry.
The bully at school made me pay him 25 cents a day not to beat me up. But I didn’t cry.
I missed my friends, my family and my hometown. But I didn’t cry.
One night some teenagers jumped my sister and me when we were walking home from the pizza shop. They scared the crap out of us and stole our pizza. But I didn’t cry.
I remember crying just one time as a kid. I got hit in the face with a baseball and my lip exploded – shooting blood everywhere. I distinctly remember pausing and thinking, “Now I’m going to let myself cry.”
I refused to let myself cry for more than 30 years. I sucked it up and held in all the fear, sadness and rage I had inside of me.
I thought this would protect me.
I thought it would make me tougher.
It didn’t. But I didn’t realize that until I stopped drinking and had months of therapy.
My therapist would ask, “How does xyz incident make you feel?”
I’d reply, “I think…” and he’d cut me off and say, “But how do you feel?”
He’d gently push me to stop thinking and start feeling. As we dredged up emotions I’d held down for years, the tears would flow.
He help free me from demons I’d been carrying inside my entire life.
I’m still not much of a crier. I tend to suck it up and hold it in. But not always.
I cried when my stepdaughter died and for months afterward.
I cried when I had to put my dog down. Then my cat. Then my other cat.
I cried when my wife had pain from back surgery that made her scream in agony and I could do nothing to make it better.
I cried when she was diagnosed with lymphoma.
I cried when 10 years later she got lung cancer.
As I sit here beside my wife in hospice, I can’t seem to get through more than a few minutes without tearing up.
My wife used to hold me in her arms when I cried. She’d tell me she loved me and she’d scratch my head.
Even as recently as a few days before we entered hospice she held me in her arms and said to me, “Don’t cry, baby. I love you.”
But now I am watching my wife die and I can’t stop crying.