Ever since I've been in my "twenties" (I say it that way because I'm only two years in!), I have been what people call a "crier." In high school, I never cried in front of people. Rarely even my mom. I had many behind closed doors. When my great-grandmother Eulah passed away, I cried almost every night for months before and after her death. I had many terrible anorexic breakdowns over what my body looked like while I was desperately trying to shed pounds that only I could see. I was living a stressful, unfulfilled life, if we're being honest. It wasn't that I couldn't "feel" what others did, I just kept my emotions to myself because I didn't think I deserved to share them with others. I have always been a passionate person regarding life in general, so don't let my stint of stoicism fool you.
When I began to heal from my self-hatred, and treated myself with love, that is when I could begin to feel again. Feel so passionately. I also realized that this "crying" phase doesn't necessarily happen to everyone else. People who have normal, healthy relationships with themselves will never feel the emotional deprivation that other young people with eating disorders do. That's why my change in behavior seemed so radical three years ago when I decided to love and respect myself and emotions. My new feelings surfaced slowly and could range between touching and entertaining: I cried when I played piano at my Nanny's funeral and again later when I saw her brother crying for his loss. I cried when I returned from Europe and ran into my mother's arms. I cried watching the opening ceremony of the Olympics. I cried during a half marathon because I was so happy to be alive. I cried at graduation when I relived the journey it took to achieve that moment. I cried when I saw the Rolling Stones in concert (like, who just expects to be so near Mick Jagger in their lifetime?).
The most emotionally stirring event in my life so far has been my Papaw's fight against pancreatic cancer, and oddly that is what helped me to realize that I just "feel" differently now. Obviously I was devastated when I was told the news. I was scared, yet I was also determined. I trusted that he would never give up. The months of chemo and radiation leading up to his surgery could be a book itself, but the event of his surgery was the most risky (and scary). My family traveled to Baltimore, MD, where Papaw was being treated by top-notch doctors, for the operation.
We were all nervous for very clear reasons. What if something just went radically wrong? Saying goodbye to him in pre-op sucked. I hate leaving people, and he just looked so fragile. I tried to avoid the seriousness with some harmless comic relief. A nurse asked, "Mr. Redman, do you have any other metal in your body besides the chemo port?" I said, "Papaw, you forgot to take out your nipple rings." My family laughed and the nurse did too when he realized that I was joking of course. Eventually we had to leave him there, and all of us cried, including him.
When I was allowed to go back to see him post-surgery I was nervous. Only because I knew I would cry, and I was nervous for my family to see me (which is the most ridiculous fear ever). I walked frantically down the ICU hallway, fumbling with the hand sanitizer dispensers. I walked into the room, and when I saw my Papaw, I was flooded with so many emotions. I was reminded of the subconscious anger that I had felt ever since his diagnosis. I was sad that the man who raised me had to go through that. I thought it was unfair. I was relieved that he was even in my presence. There he was, months of chemo, weakness, radiation, and hours of surgery later, and he was laying there, alive. I started to cry because I was overwhelmed with relief and thankfulness. I was so humbled by my God. Papaw had just endured extreme amounts of anesthesia, blood loss, etc., and yet there he was, awake, doing his best to comfort us, well me at that point. He said, "Don't cry, baby. I'm okay." in a slow, weak voice. Which, naturally, made me cry even harder. My muddled response was, "I know. That's why I'm crying." It's as simple as that. I felt something, and I cried.
I used to think crying was complicated. I thought it made me weak. I was entirely wrong. Refusing to feel my own emotions made me weak. Now I embrace them and let others see them. It helps me to accept and love myself.
Cancer can make anyone cry, and that is the significance of it. No one judged me when I cried about my Papaw's situation, and I realized no one was ever judging me before when I cried about anything else. I was fooled by my own insecurities and perception of myself. Even though it's taken some crappy times to get there, I am so thankful that I can fearlessly and passionately show my emotions now. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. I love meeting fellow criers. I hope you welcome your waves of emotions as healthily as I do now!
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