Dry-Eyed Grief
I just said goodbye to my dear cat Libby. She went from being healthy to being critically ill in a very short time as some cats do. As some people do, too.
But that’s not what this is really all about.
As I waited for the vet in the exam room, I knelt on the floor in front of Libby who was on the exam table and looked into her loving, trusting eyes. She started to purr and knead the air when I talked softly to her and in that moment, I broke and the tears that had been stored up for so many years from so many other griefs escaped my soul. I actually sobbed.
I cried for my mom’s burial this past July. I cried for my dear friend’s death in September and my youngest sister’s unexpected death less than 2 weeks after my friend’s death. I cried for many other things — for what was and also for what was not and now would never be.
Though I had shed a few sparse tears for these most recent losses, I mostly presented a dry-eyed grief to those around me. I’ve been this way all my life, this dry-eyed grief allowing me to present myself in a way that says I’m strong, I’m OK, I don’t need help. Until I’m kneeling with my sick cat in a vet office and the mask I present to others as the real me slides to the floor wet with my own tears.
My first thought is to hurriedly pick up that mask before anyone sees my grief, but I don’t, and I consciously kneel fully unmasked as the vet and others walk into that room. I look into their eyes, and I do not see judgment or criticism. I see compassion and tears in their eyes too and the vet embraces me and tells me how sorry she is.
I cried again all the way home for what was and also for what was not and now would never be. It was wonderful. It was awful. It was beautiful. It was exhausting. It was revitalizing.
My soul suddenly feels lighter because I finally, finally allowed the tears stored up from so many other griefs to break free and be seen and accepted by others.
And that’s what this is really all about.
Jackie Deems copyright 2023
