DOAEN 14: Tears Make us Who we Are

Daughter of my body, your eyes clogged with tears, I want to find the right combination of words to make it better. I don't know what to say. This is not the same as when you scraped a knee or lost a favorite sweater. Back in your middle school days, I watched you fit your heart back together with Super Glue after a week of sobbing in your room with the door shut. I stayed up with you when your father died as you emerged changed forever. His death placed you in a setting apart from your young peers forever. Now more loss, the injustice of an indifferent world, your love extracted from your arms to do jail time as you listen to the tide wash his voice through collect phone calls, his face a vision behind sealed glass. These days I watch another layer of sorrow seep into your eyes as you stand on a hillside like his own Red Cross. Daughter of my body, I recognize your loyal heart that scorns common wisdom. But I fear for you, while at the same time, I don't wish to confuse your love with my past loves, with the way I tried to rescue people in my lifeboat from diving into the surrounding grey waters. All I can say from my rusted iron perch is that our hearts heal, and tears soften us to who we must become.