How Losing My Grandmother Taught Me The Importance Of Crying
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Health and Wellness

How Losing My Grandmother Taught Me The Importance Of Crying

Crying is the best.

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How Losing My Grandmother Taught Me The Importance Of Crying

I was at work when I found out that my grandmother had died.

I worked in a church. While setting out some weekly bulletins, I found my brother, in tears, next to my father. Also in tears. Though a little better at hiding it.

But the tears did not come for me.

This was the second time I had lost a grandparent—the first being my grandmother's husband. I didn't cry when I heard he had died, either. I hugged my father and told him I was sorry for his loss. Those tears would come later in the middle of ordering at a Chinese restaurant.

So I wasn't necessarily concerned that I wasn't crying. Maybe I just need a longer time to process death. I don't know.

The wake was strange for me. It was two days later, and I hadn't produced a single tear. I wondered what was wrong with me as I sat and watched relatives sniffle uncontrollably. Meanwhile, I was upset someone had sat on and broken the screen of my flip phone.

My uncle arrived at the wake. He saw me sitting by myself. He came up to me and asked if I wanted to take a drive and get some coffee.

I remember the feeling of nausea during that car ride. We made some small talk, but I was mostly silent. Why did I leave? We drove for another 15 minutes before ending up in a diner. We got the coffees in little to-go cups.

We sat in the car for a few moments, sipping on the hot coffees when I said, "I gotta go back." My uncle understood completely. He dumped his coffee into the snow. I did the same just to watch the steam rise off the ground.

I finally arrived back at the funeral home. I didn't wait for my uncle to park his car. I hurried into the display room where I saw one of my older cousins. I walked up to him and gave him a frown. No words.

He opened his arms for a hug. And that's when the tears finally came for me.

I held him tight and I sobbed deep into his shoulder. I took long, deep breaths, and I exhaled deep, long sobs. And my cousin waited for me to be ready to let go.

When I finally did, we shared a laughcry (that little chuckle when you acknowledge what a mess you are).

My grandmother's death taught me how to grieve. It taught me the necessity of crying. I learned catharsis in grieving. And my cousin, though I don't even know if he's aware, taught me the necessity of a hug in the right moment.


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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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