My husband lost his sister to cancer last week. As we recounted stories from her life, I remembered why I had fallen in love with this man. Although he stands like a modern-day Paul Bunyan at 6’4”, this peaceful giant has never been afraid to shed a tear.
Some men flee from teardrops as, legend says, the elephant runs from mice. But Frank doesn’t run from the strength of his feelings. He never has.
Viewing the climatic scene of my “chick flick” Frank’s hazel eyes glisten and his lashes darken with moisture. His emotional shift has been orchestrated by Hollywood. Still, it is okay to be sensitive. It’s a gift to be vulnerable with those you love. We laugh and hug and cry together.
Hearing his nephews’ solos at their musical recital, Frank lets the tears roll down his cheek without apology. He is moved. Proud. Frank wears his love on his face for all to see. I hand him a tissue and he slowly dabs his eyes.
“I believe Frank's tears make him strong.”
Feeling the sting of words spoken in fury, Frank’s skin turns flush, his eyes grow teary, but his words resound with patience. “I think you misunderstand,” he says. His quiet voice reaches out toward reconciliation. Seeing his pain, my anger is gone. And I am ready to listen.
Recalling the life of his sister, upon her death last week, his eyes turned damp once more as we sort through photographs from Judy’s childhood. Here, standing with her step-sister in matching dresses (they had gone clothes shopping, independent of each other, and bought the same outfits). There, with her parents (long since passed), her father’s arm draped over this daddy’s girl’s shoulder. Frank’s voice, often breaking with emotion, gives narration to the fullness of Judy’s life and, in part, to his own. And any doubts I have, as to how he would deal with her death, fade.
I believe Frank’s tears help make him strong. That allowing himself to be vulnerable to grief, anger and pride makes him a better person. And I wonder what would happen if his “freedom to feel” were contagious.
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