Good News! I Cry Pretty Now

Progress. . . I Guess

Caution: Some Profanity

Photo by Danie Franco on Unsplash

The Ugly Cry 

Early on after Mr. J’s diagnosis, I sit on a plane and am grateful for my wide mask that covers my nose and mouth and most of my face.  My eyes are wet and my shoulders are heaving. The guy next to me is pretending he has no idea -NO!!  IDEA!!!  That I am crying the ugly cry beneath my mask.  How could he possibly tell? Save for my heaving.  Wiping my eyes.  Occasionally blowing my nose. I think, “How can I even make it bearable?”   

Time passes. I’m watching grown men on the plane dick around playing computer games and all I can think is, “Are you fucking kidding me? This is what you are doing with your time?” because, of course, they don’t know that life is precious and that it can be gone in a fucking instant.  I could tell them, but they wouldn’t believe me.  And they wouldn’t want to talk to the slightly past middle age lady with bloodshot, weepy eyes anyway. 

Grief in Fits and Starts 

I read a mindfulness article about leaning into grief when it comes, rather than stifling it. I am a pretty damn good stifler, although occasionally, rarely, the little girl inside of me breaks through. I thought I’d give this whole “leaning in” thing a try.  So up comes the wave of grief, as I am watching the end of Dolphin Tale, a sappy Disneyesque movie in my hotel.  And I just sit there, let the waves rise and fall.  And . . . nothing.  No weeping, no wailing, no gnashing of teeth.  Just quiet sadness.  We sat together for a while, me and sadness.   I think sadness started to dissipate, but it may also just be my excellent stifling skills.  

People are Predictable When it Comes to Strangers and Grief 

People are 100 % terrified of a crying middle age or slightly older woman.  They may have no idea what she is crying about, but there is a damn good reason. As a whole, I have found people apparently believe nothing positive will come from asking an openly crying woman about it.  

Here’s my advice if you are prone to the ugly cry. Masks can be pretty big, so when you do feel like crying, both the wearer and the observer can live in the bliss that is plausible deniability. People don’t want you crying, so if they can only see your eyes, they can’t be sure.  I mean, they might be sure, especially if your shoulders are shaking and you are hiccupping and gulping, but they will tell themselves they can’t be sure, sure because that is better, safer, than the alternative - which would be to talk to an old lady who is sobbing. This is already a fate almost certainly worse than death.  I mean unless it’s your nana or something.  Otherwise, we keep our pretend blinders on and walk by that shoulder shaking, sniveling lady and we just keep right on walking!!  Because damned if we’re going to do something productive.  Something kind.  Something human.  NOPE!!  Just keep on walking, Sally.  Don’t look up.  Don’t make eye contact.  Don’t let her know that you know that she knows that you know you (and she) are human.   For god’s sake, don’t do that.   

I Cry Pretty Now 

I’ve learned how to cry pretty now. Instead of the ugly cry (which I still do sometimes when I am alone), now I can swallow hard (is that stifling?), now I can swallow hard, and my eyes just fill with tears. Maybe one or two will fall, but that can easily be explained by an eyelash in the eye, or something else plausible. So other people don’t have to be confronted with my grief.  

So What to Do? 

I have been wondering about this, because in some ways, perhaps, the silence is a gift.  It leaves you alone with your grief. Allowing you to maintain your dignity. That is what I expect when I cry pretty. But when it’s the ugly cry, say, on a plane, what do I want? I want some acknowledgement that I am obviously going through something really hard. And whether, at the end of the day, I am crying about a bad grade or a soon to be dead husband, what I want is human contact and sympathy. “Can I get you some water? Or gin?” would be a nice way to acknowledge suffering. “I don’t know what you’re going through but I’m sorry. Do you want to talk to a stranger?” Personally, I would likely thank the speaker but decline the offer to talk. “You can cry all you want. Don’t hold it in on my account,” would also be nice, allowing me permission to break the social contract.

If you’re not on a plane, and you witness an ugly crier, you could ask said ugly crier, “Is there someone you’d like me to call?” Once I had someone ask me if I needed a hug. Really, I guess, asking someone about their grief gives them permission to stop pretending they are not doing the ugly cry, and just let it go.

I Don’t Have All the Answers 

I don’t have all the answers about grief. I am only just beginning. 

Thoughts from those who have been there – either as the ugly crier, or the stranger, are welcome.