Underwater Tears

ID 3249899 | Seas © John & Anna Marie Carter & Mearns | Dreamstime.com

You would think tears would blend into an ocean of feelings, but they don’t. They float to the surface at the most inopportune and surprising times--the mauling of a baby bird by a carefree dog, hearing in my heart my father singing to me at bedtime and missing him, riding in the car to a chaplain intern BBQ after caring the day before for a family of five as their father/brother/son lay quite still after being hit by a car on the eve of his daughter’s high school graduation, and most recently, placing my hand on the shoulder of an elderly man outside of an Ace Hardware store in Omaha, NB, his wife lying on the hard concrete, out cold, after tripping. The EMS caring for her. Tears flowing as we finally drove away.

What was that last one about? I realized that I had never fully mourned leaving my job as a chaplain, and I missed it terribly. After giving notice, I scheduled the first of two knee surgeries. Not too long after that, my husband passed out in the kitchen and was taken by EMS to the hospital where a myriad of tests were administered. It was later discovered as we were about to board a plane to Seattle, that he had developed a subdural hematoma. We chose not to fly, much to the chagrin of our youngest son and granddaughter who had been waiting for us to arrive. Then there was the second knee surgery performed after I had fallen over a rocking chair in our living room. That was a real feat! I could feel myself falling and said to myself, “No, not my right knee!” And guess what I fell on--yes, the right knee.

I tried to replace the paid position with a volunteer position, but it just wasn’t the same. I did not have the same access I had as a staff chaplain. I could no longer go into rooms in which the patient was in isolation, even though a nurse had asked me to visit a patient in such a room. It felt like a travesty. Fully qualified, understanding the seriousness of entering an isolation room, and Board Certified to boot! But no access…

There had been no time to grieve. The tears remained underwater and surfaced yesterday after I left an elderly man and his wife in God’s care.

The tears that came after caring for that man outside of Ace Hardware were brought to the surface as they merged with my identity. I have since realized that being a chaplain is not limited to a position. It is who I AM. And I can be that person anywhere. I have to admit, however, that it has taken me several years to come to this realization.

Tears that remain underwater can be dangerous to one’s health and relationships--disguising themselves as anger, depression, alcoholism, to name a few. Ecclesiastes 3 proclaims that there is a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance. Mourning losses is part of being human; weeping sets the stage for laughing at a later time. If you have lost a parent, you can understand what I mean. At first, the grief is deadening and deep. After a period of time, we are able to laugh at that parent’s foibles. There is still a seed of sadness, but it is balanced with our ability to be at peace and be able to see the humour in some of the antics of our loved one.

A time to mourn and a time to dance is another way of saying the same thing. Both laughing and dancing release those good hormones and give a lightness to life. We are nudged to not take everything quite so seriously. There are still good days among the bad. There are still things to look forward to.

When those underwater tears threaten to surface, let them come. They are part of your healing.