Today, I cried all over the Thanksgiving table.
My Daddy, starting last year, pulls out six blank-lined index cards and fills them with his squarish, engineer’s handwriting. He chooses a word picture for each of us, to help give us a glimpse of what he sees in us.
I was already tearing up as he read my grandmother’s and my siblings’ cards aloud. When he got to mine, I laughed. And then I let myself cry through it, because my eyes were very wet.
I don’t cry often. I try and logic myself out of it, and understand what I’m feeling in order to process, but when my body isn’t feeling well my conscious internal logic starts to collapse (enter tonight).
Since lunch, I’ve been tearing up over beautiful things and sad things, each more like crouching to stare at a flower like being four years old than a close-up in a camera. There is no analysis, just honest emotional reaction to life and living.
Let’s keep pushing aside the logic here for a moment, because my brain has very little left. Instead…
It’s fitting, somehow, to just cry at the drop of a hat on this day, Beautiful things are worth tears of achey joy–deserving, even. And the sad things merit tears, as well, especially on today. Somehow, the sad things are all tossed in a pile with the good things when your eyes well up with tears: weeping because Home is coming, not yet come. Thanks can come out of sorrow, not just joy.
And crying over the vastness of how deeply you are loved, how small you are to try to understand it, but the vastness is personal and close and so there…
Crying at the beauty, like Samwise, is honesty that doesn’t need to be subjected to logic. The sun sets, and the sun rises. In the end, there are oceans and oceans of Love, and Love again.