Crying Flowers

Her tears caught everyone in the room by surprise. They didn’t run down her cheeks but fell straight to the floor. She was young, newly sober, and scared to be sitting in an AA room full of strangers. And yet, she stayed.

Even now, I’m thinking about her tears. What was their source? What could I have said to make her feel better? A kind word? Something inspirational? Or maybe the too-often-used remedy of humor, which I know is only a way to disguise my discomfort with tears (mine as well as others). For some reason, I have a paralyzing fear of tears.

But if the 12-step recovery rooms have taught me anything, it is that we should let tears flow. We should be brave enough to go into the darkness, the place where wounds go to fester and grow, regardless of sadness it will stir. To do so will hurt and bring tears, but those tears and the willingness to touch the wounds that cause them are the very things that lead to new life.

Jane Yolen wrote a collection of stories entitled, The Girl who cried Flowers. The title has always reminded me that our tears can be a source of life, that the pains and sorrows we carry can bring new life - to others as well as to ourselves - if shared. It’s easier said than done, I know, but watching the tears fall on the floor this morning makes me want to try.