When I was a teen there were times I just cried uncontrollably, always alone, and I don't even remember why. I cried for nothing and for everything. I cried from aloneness, from a feeling I would always be alone. I cried secretly, though. When I was through crying I went into the bathroom and cleaned up and patted some baby powder on my face to cover the redness. When I came back downstairs family members would ask if I were all right; I looked so pale. It was preferable to appear pale than to appear like I had been crying.
When I have lost something, someone, I cry. I know that the gush of tears is good for me, that in the end there will be endorphins or something like that and I will actually feel better. Crying helps me feel better.
I really hate losing the control in front of others, not being able to speak calmly, breaking down.
I am crying more now than I did when my father was dying, when my brother was dying. I am crying for my cat. It isn't really that strange to those of us who have such companions. There is such a difference in how we relate to our kitties and doggies than in how we relate to our family and friends. Our relationships with our animals is so much cleaner and simpler and it is that simplicity and trust and sameness that makes such a pure love so easy and the loss so devastating.
I haven't lost him yet. Today he seems more alert and in touch than he has in days. What is he telling me? Not yet? Not yet?