She watches what I do, even when I’m not watching. It upsets her when I’m upset.<\/p>\n
I have no desire to hide how I feel, and I also don’t want to upset her.<\/p>\n
Here’s the thing: sometimes I cry when I’m happy. How to explain it to a five year old?<\/p>\n
They say there are no tears in heaven. And yet I cry happy tears so often. SO often.<\/p>\n
What’s up with that?<\/p>\n
I have a theory. It’s the tension. It’s the lingering aftertaste of the memory of how things were once (recently? Long ago?) NOT beautiful and happy.<\/p>\n
The half life of the hunger as we are now at a full table. I am at a full banquet, why did I once go without? How could both these things have happened?<\/p>\n
so I am pulled taut and the tears spill over.<\/p>\n
what if all the memory of lack in heaven is not painful? What if we see everything as making sense? what if the ironic tension is relieved<\/p>\n
And so, when I find myself tearing up before my beautiful and curious daughter, I think “why remember the bad times? I can enjoy the right now thing and not need to cry. Here we are and let this fill my heart.”<\/p>\n
I am not sure that covers the ground. i’m going to keep working on this theory.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
She watches what I do, even when I’m not watching. It upsets her when I’m upset. I have no desire to hide how I feel, and I also don’t want to upset her. Here’s the thing: sometimes I cry when … Continue reading