Don't Cry, Andrea

How the Worst Advice Became the BEST

“Feelings are not the enemy”, has been my life’s motto for two decades. I even printed those words on t-shirts to sell at performances all over the world. I rarely write a poem that doesn’t touch on that sentiment. “Feel what you gotta feel. Keep the Novocain out of your wisdom teeth. Every window begs to be open when the storm comes,” I wrote years ago. I still keep my windows open when my storms come, and my storms come all of the time. Thank goodness, because nothing feels more like a baptism. I rise up from that water anew.

Crying, for me, is the release that soothes just about everything. If I cry during a panic attack, the panic stops. If I sob while furious, the fury flowers into peace. If I weep when grieving, the grief shapeshifts into love. My tears are my best friends. I count on them to carry me through. My tears walk me out to the swing in the pines and lift my feet to the sun when I’m down. My tears wake me the day after chemo and drag me to the basketball hoop in my driveway when my lungs weigh a million pounds. I cry everywhere I want to. I cry everywhere I’m not supposed to, and always feel better regardless of the reputation I have for being a human fountain.

I was thinking about this the other night while recalling the many comforting words I’ve received from people this year. Wisdom, insight, and tenderness from so many. I’ve been gifted a million permission slips to feel whatever there is to feel and that permission has carried me through, held me close to Truth’s heart. Because of that, it surprised me to realize that the words that have held me the most throughout this time were the words of my sister when I called to tell her the CT scan revealed masses on my ovaries. Don’t cry, Andrea, she said, while crying. Don’t cry, Andrea.

My sister and I are ten years apart. When I was 13, she was a 3 year old strawberry growing at my feet. Back then, like now, if ever a tear fell from my eye, it landed on her cheek. Don’t cry, Andrea, she would say, while crying, snot pouring down her face when I got cut from the varsity basketball team. Don’t cry, Andrea, she begged, as I packed my bags for college, not wanting to live anywhere where my sister wasn’t.

It’s the definition of family, I suppose––my pain hurts her more than it hurts me. I don’t want my pain to hurt anyone. Knowing that it does has been the hardest part of this year. What is teaching me to make peace with the fact is to appreciate the why of it. We are not and have never been separate. To be human is to cry each other’s tears.

When my sister says Don’t cry, Andrea, she means I love you as much as I love myself. She means, I would do anything for you. She means, You are never alone. She means, We are in this together and everything is doable with this much love. She means, your joy is a treasure I would dig up from my own grief to turn your life to gold.

When my sister says, Don’t cry, Andrea, she means, go ahead and cry, Andrea. Do whatever you need to. I am here crying with you. I am right here.

Love, Andrea 🖤