Case
Well-known member
A couple of days ago was the tenth anniversary of my mother's death. This event changed me forever.
Back in November 2004, I got the news from my Dad over the phone. Dad spoke in a serious, but traditionally hardened manner. His voice never cracked. He did not cry. It was as if he were talking about a car that didn't work anymore.
This man was a father to me, but rarely a confidante. We were never best buddies, and this was part of the reason. He never emoted to his kids unless it was anger. Anyway, I don't remember any of the phone conversation due to the gravity of the news. I was in a blur. The words just folded over the same, simple fact: Mom was dead. But I attempted to remain stoic, like my Dad. Just straight-forward and business-like. That was my father, and that's why we were never close.
I do remember calling my ex-wife soo after that call. She was not yet out of my life as she is now, but I wanted to talk to someone outside of my family who knew her and could express proper emotions. My ex was shocked to hear the news, naturally, and she offered to be there at the funeral. Despite our recent past, I found this comforting.
Then, after that call, something happened to me that I had never felt before: I started crying. These were not the dramatic sobs and wails you might hear at some funerals, but silent crying. That's how I cry, partly because Dad's "ex-millitary" sensibility forbade crying in his house. He shamed his children for ever shedding a tear.
That's another reason we were never close.
The only thing was, I couldn't stop the tears. Somehow, I had lost the ability to control myself. These were more intense tears than I had ever known, and it scared me. Startled by my inability to stop crying, I surrendered to it, using up a box of tissues until I could cry no more.
It was cathartic, but I didn't feel better afterward.
The funeral came and went, and
Back in November 2004, I got the news from my Dad over the phone. Dad spoke in a serious, but traditionally hardened manner. His voice never cracked. He did not cry. It was as if he were talking about a car that didn't work anymore.
This man was a father to me, but rarely a confidante. We were never best buddies, and this was part of the reason. He never emoted to his kids unless it was anger. Anyway, I don't remember any of the phone conversation due to the gravity of the news. I was in a blur. The words just folded over the same, simple fact: Mom was dead. But I attempted to remain stoic, like my Dad. Just straight-forward and business-like. That was my father, and that's why we were never close.
I do remember calling my ex-wife soo after that call. She was not yet out of my life as she is now, but I wanted to talk to someone outside of my family who knew her and could express proper emotions. My ex was shocked to hear the news, naturally, and she offered to be there at the funeral. Despite our recent past, I found this comforting.
Then, after that call, something happened to me that I had never felt before: I started crying. These were not the dramatic sobs and wails you might hear at some funerals, but silent crying. That's how I cry, partly because Dad's "ex-millitary" sensibility forbade crying in his house. He shamed his children for ever shedding a tear.
That's another reason we were never close.
The only thing was, I couldn't stop the tears. Somehow, I had lost the ability to control myself. These were more intense tears than I had ever known, and it scared me. Startled by my inability to stop crying, I surrendered to it, using up a box of tissues until I could cry no more.
It was cathartic, but I didn't feel better afterward.
The funeral came and went, and
