I never expected a diagnosis of Cancer. I was completely blindsided. That day in February – the day before valentine’s day, Dr. O called. “Is your husband at home with you?”
That could mean only one thing, bad news. “Colon cancer.” A simply stated fact, delivered like a package by the UPS Guy.
I accepted the package. After all, it’s not like there was a choice.
But what was strange, was the calm I felt. No wailing sadness. No stifling grief. No blazing anger or crippling fear.
“How come I’m not freaking out?” My psychologist smiled in response to my question. She was not the least disturbed by my calmness and lack of tears.
“I’m okay,” I told my friends and relatives . . . and I meant it.
My brain had automatically translated Dr. O’s words into stark, clinical facts. It must have.
I thought that in the days to come, reality would kick in, that fear and grief and sadness would come, and with them the tears that everyone around me (including myself) seemed to be expecting.
My rational mind was telling me I should cry – it is good to cry. But I kept asking, why should I cry? What on earth should I cry about?
Maybe I should cry because I don’t like having cancer with all its associated symptoms and complications.
Maybe I should cry to assure myself that I really have acknowledged this latest defect in my body.
Maybe I should cry so that I can adequately grieve my loss.
In the mirror, on the face staring back at me there is no sign of the missing tears, only the calmness you feel when you know the Almighty’s got your back.
I’ve never thought of myself as emotionally repressed – quite the opposite, so I’ve now given myself permission to cry. Let’s see what happens.
Here are 12 thoughts I think would ease fears about letting the teardrops fall.
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