I was surprised the other morning to find tears running down my face. I was not particularly sad or distressed. They were contented tears. I had simply been reading something that moved me. A few moments later I noticed that my blouse was wet, and was itself tear stained.
How wonderfully remarkable.
Once I was a woman who cried at everything. I cried when I was happy. I cried when I was sad. I cried at sappy movies, no matter how predictable. I cried when I heard beautiful music. And then I lost the ability to cry. In the past couple of months I have started crying again, tears of sadness and loss, tears of grief. But I hadn't quite gotten back to being that person who would let tears slip at the simplest of things, that person who could allow herself to be easily moved to tears, unbidden. Slowly the door I closed a few years ago, the door I closed because I needed to be strong, is becoming unstuck, and is beginning to open.
Once again my heart knows tears of joy.