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Why do we cry?

Why do Mothers Cry? By Alison RG van Diggelen “It’s not a leak…it’s a tear…for joy, sadness, pain, disappointment, loneliness, and pride.” Erma Bombeck Shortly after my father died, my three-year old daughter caught me crying as I watched a story unfold on the Evening News. The story was in fact an inspiring account of a kidnapped child who’d escaped her captor. I should have been happy, but I cried. Big tears rolled down my cheeks, and my daughter couldn’t help noticing, “It’s OK for you to cry mommy. Your daddy went to heaven and isn’t coming back to visit me any more.” She gave me a big long hug, her little arms barely making it across my shoulders. Needless to say, her gesture of kindness produced even more tears. It seems that ever since I had children, the tears have been coming fast and copious. In the early days of motherhood, you could put it down to sleep deprivation and hormonal changes. Almost anything would switch on the old water ducts: getting up for what felt like the 100th feeding in the middle of the night when it seemed the rest of the world snored; trying to give a wriggly baby a bath as he screamed bloody murder; even a leaky diaper would set me off. But for all the sad tears there are also puddles of happy ones. Like the moment my newborn was placed on my chest and I spoke to him as he found his first taste of milk. How my lips quivered, as I said, “I’m your mommy and I’m going to look after you”. A salty tear dropped on his baldy head. I cried for exhaustion mixed with elation that he was healthy. I cried as the adrenalin rush of the birth plateaued, but more brought on those tears. I cried for relief that my parents had arrived in time to see their first grandchild. I cried in disappointment that my two sisters weren’t by my side to witness this little miracle. It’s as though motherhood opens the floodgates to a reservoir of tears. A well of tenderness is unearthed and like it or not, our defenses are breached. As mothers, we can instantly cry with ease, with abandon even, just as we can immediately put up with spit-up all over our clothes and the carpet. Maybe in those early days we’re simply too tired to care? Once we have kids, gone are the days of wallowing in the bath for hours. Luxurious showers until the water runs cold are things of the past. Maybe the cleansing water has to come from our very own tear ducts. For me, there’s definitely a correlation between bathroom time and the amount of tears spilled. I well remember those teary first weeks of motherhood, when grabbing a shower by 3pm was my definition of successful day. Anything, anything would make me tear up, whether it was simply burning the toast or looking at myself in the mirror! Today, minor household accidents don’t normally get me teary, but almost any moving story or movie will get me reaching for my hankies. These soft focus TV ads featuring adorable kids and grandparents can even catch me unawares for goodness sake. Visiting my girlfriend Rosie who recently had a baby set me off. In fact she was embraced by several teary mothers as she described her prolonged labor. Among good friends, tears are as infectious as yawning. The mother’s sensitive tear ducts don’t respect your surroundings either. En route to vacation last year I read my kids “The Selfish Giant” by Oscar Wilde. Right there in the plane, sandwiched between two serious business travelers and my kids, my voice started quaking on page 23. I then had to stop reading to control the sobs welling up when the Giant gets sick. Rapt by the magic of the story, my kids shrieked, “Read on, mom…come on mom! What happens next?” I had to take a deep breath, brush away the tears, and do my motherly duty. But at the next opportunity I made a trip up the aisle to the toilet to have a good sob in the privacy of that little coffin-sized room. You could call it the mother’s only club: the mile high cry. Maybe crying is not linked exclusively to motherhood. Perhaps these active tear ducts are linked to growing older and facing our own mortality. It is said that it’s not a story per se which moves us, but what we as readers, viewers or witnesses bring to it. Perhaps it’s simply with the gathering of years and experience and baggage, we all get a bit more tearful and a bit less inhibited about showing our emotions. Whatever the reason, now that I’m a mother, I don’t go anywhere these days without my packet of Kleenex. Alison van Diggelen is the editor of siliconmom.com. © Siliconmom

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