"Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;
If you can bounce high, bounce for her too,
Till she cry 'Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,
I must have you!"
-Thomas Parke D'Imvilliers
i was taught not to cry. Ever. It was frowned upon; disdained. More than anyone wished to deal with, these emotions i felt.
i remember when my cousin died. He was 15; the same age as me. my aunt could not have children of her own, so they adopted. Robbie was so sweet and good natured, but by the age of two they suspected something was wrong. And they were right. He had Muscular Dystrophy. And because the family grew up next door to me, we became very close. We all became "handicapped" aware.. long before it was "vogue" to be so.
The day he died, i was in another town, visiting other cousins. my mother called to tell me. i broke down and cried ... even now i remember the pain i felt. Yet she chided me. What are you crying for? she demanded. i knew this would happen at some point. i guess she expected i would be prepared for it.
i went home to help my aunt. i asked permission to go to the funeral home because friends had offered to be with me there. my mother seemed angry, but said yes. i clearly remember how i reacted seeing him in his coffin. They carried me out of the building. It was the first time i had ever experienced the harsher realities of death.
i'm angry still, because of how this was handled.
Don't cry. She said it often. She hated when i did. She accused me of using it as a way to get my father's attention. She said i was so predictable. i had my "bladder in my eyes". It got to the point that i would go away and hide whenever i felt emotional at all. Because i didn't want her mad at me.
i guess i learned that i shouldn't show anyone what was deep inside. It became a habit. A crutch maybe. i felt that people weren't interested in my feelings, that it would only upset them and increase their own problems. So mine should be kept inside, close to me only. i still hold back, to this day, not letting very many inside to what i am thinking.
i held my father in my arms and faced death again. And i didn't cry; not in front of her.
But when it was done, i left the room. And lost my mind in private.