The crying game
By M on Thursday 26 October 2006, 00:05 - Journal - Permalink
I visited Paula Martinac's weblog today and
discovered that her father died on Monday.
This was not unexpected, and I think Paula had been preparing herself, as well
as one can, for some time. What was unexpected though, was my gut reaction to
his death. It is not that having been following Paula's weblog I have really
got to know her father through it, nor is it that Paula's situation and mine
are that close, although there have been similarities. Whatever the reason, I
like many others was moved to leave a comment on the post. Mine went as
follows:
Tears? Well, almost. But then tears are not something I have a history of. I can remember the last three occasions on which I shed them: in 1992, 1985 and 1977. It looks like a seven-year cycle that hiccoughed about 1999 and is due again right about now. In all three cases it was girlfriend trouble, and in two of the three cases I forced them a bit - cynically aware that they would help my argument.Paula
I was surprised to feel the sensation of tears pricking at my eyes as I read this post about your dad's death. Something about your reaction, though, makes me feel that at this emotional crossroads you have taken the right road and will ultimately rejoice in the rightness of mortality, the need for another generation to salute its predecessors, then move on and take their place as heads of the family. It seems this is the one really big step in 'growing up'.
Good luck with everything over the next few days.
Mike.
I strongly suspect that I cried when our puppy Toby died of distemper about 1967 - but not for certain. There was something self-pitying about all of these incidents, and this made me wonder - was there ever a time I shed tears on someone else's behalf, not out of personal self-pity? The only occasion I can recall is even further back in the decades - watching the film 'Born Free' in the early 1960s. The final scene had both Greg and I blubbering in our seats. I vaguely recall mum trying to reassure us as we left the cinema that the little lion cubs were going to be all right. There must have been other tearful occasions, but I just cannot recall them. So much for my empathic credentials - animals, cinematic, such a long time ago - it is not much, is it?
We are that kind of family. I can remember only a handful of occasions when mum cried, none whatsoever for Rachel and Derek, and the only occasions for Greg were when we were very young. And as I've already said, it was once and once only for dad (Apollo 8).
I've never been comfortable with crying, and don't know what to do when it starts. I once worked in a company that was run on a highly committed emotional level and was very uncomfortable at my colleagues' propensity to choke up during their heartfelt presentations, or break down during heated arguments. I'd really rather just not be around in situations like that.
All of which begs the question: So why now?
Perhaps I empathise more than I realise with Paula. After all, she has until this week had two parents with dementia - still a fairly uncommon predicament. I really do not know. It is a mystery to me.
And looking forward instead of back, I've often wondered just how I am going to react when mum or dad die. I cannot imagine crying, but obviously I have no idea what the day will be like.
Comments
Intriguing (for me, anyway) reflection on crying...led me to review my family's "crying game", what I've taken from the two extremes represented in our family (my mother is the stoic; my father was, much to his embarrassment and dismay, the cryer) and how other members of the family fit in, as well as the personal psychological/philosophical explanations we've each constructed in order to defend our individual approaches to crying.
A short note about anticipating the death of a parent: I occasionally consider possible reactions to my mother's death but, I, too, have understood that I am completely unable to anticipate how I will feel, except to know that, when she dies, I will have no regrets and no desires to overtly memorialize her (probably because I'm memorializing her in the present). I expect the former to be a relief. I expect the latter to create tension between my sisters and me, but I'm not dreading this and can see no reason to attempt to ameliorate this possibility ahead of time.
For the past 7 years I haven't been allowed to cry - I had to remain stoic for mom in order not to upset her. So when good friends, relatives and my brother passed, I had to hold it in. Now when I can cry I can't seem to let go - I keep thinking that getting out the family movies, or her photos would help, but nothing. Could be I'm still in shock, that sense of numbness that Paula mentioned. But I also know I need some sort of catharsis.
When I imagined what my reaction would be when mom passed, I always thought there would be some hystrionics on my part. So you're right - we can never predict how we'll react.
Mike--I was surprised at how little I cried after my father died. I had one intense bawl when we returned from the hospital on the day he died, and then some weepiness when his brothers and sisters first came over to see us. I was very close to my father and had anticipated intense grief, and I was a little worried when that didn't happen. I finally asked a therapist about this and he told me that my reaction might just be the result of having had a good relationship with him, along with the time to bring that relationship to a close before he died (as much as one can). That's not to say that intense grief means unfinished business--I think you have to factor in temperment and beliefs. There's always the gut shock of facing your own mortality when a family member dies, but depending upon your beliefs, I think it can also make you a little less afraid of "crossing over," now that a big part of your own life has already begun the journey.