Indulge me today as I republish one of my first pieces I wrote here. Moving once again has refreshed so many of the feelings from this post I wrote three years ago.

I don’t cry a lot. I exercise my tear ducts often enough to make sure they still work, but I have hardly been called a water-works, cry baby or someone with leaky eyes. Yet, I am not at all like my husband, who I have never seen cry. In our ten year history I have seen his eyes well up twice. Once was telling me he wanted to marry me and the other was pulling out a nose hair. He saves his tears for very special occasions. I’m confident salted tears haven’t rolled his cheeks since 1992. My reservoirs spill over much more than that.

I can’t use the excuse that crying makes us human. Crying could also mark me as an elephant. These pachyderms, along with a few other animals, also produce tears from sorrow or stress. Elephants are highly emotive creatures, and show their emotions more readily than most people. They don’t bottle it up or wonder if it is socially acceptable, the way I try to schedule many of my tears.

I can remember the few books I’ve ever cried over, times when I have been in enough pain to necessitate the release of a few tears, and moments of real spiritual longing or connection. I’ve cried with family and friends as I’ve seen them hurt or sad. I accept all of those tears, they fit the moment. But I’ve felt at least mild guilt over some of the others. Tears I’ve cried alone in loneliness, frustration and anger feel self indulgent. While those salty drops can be cathartic, they don’t do anything to solve my loneliness, frustration or anger. A solitary cry only makes me feel more alone.

So why do I cry then? And especially lately. I suppose it is a fullness inside me that I haven’t emptied out near enough: pent up emotion from conversations and discussions I’m accustomed to having and suddenly not.  I’m used to having my bucket emptied and filled by good friends. I jealously collected and loved them, I felt safe to be myself with them.  And then I left that. My husband and I moved our family over the summer and it was hard to leave. We were excited for his new job, a new city to explore and to be within driving distance of family. But prying ourselves away from friends has made this the hardest move I have known yet. I’ve cried over this more than I care to confess and more often alone than not.

I know I am not an elephant. Elephants don’t filter their emotion, wondering if they are with people they can cry with. They know they are. Their family herds are they will most likely  spend their whole lives.  They don’t all of the sudden get a glorious opportunity in another part of the country and suddenly pack up and move.  But if they did, what would they do? I don’t know. I’m not good at hypothetical elephant transitions.

However, I have been reading about the way elephants act in the real world. They reach out without abandon. Elephants are exuberant in their joy, caressing and rubbing against each other to the point of complete relaxation of their bowels (hey, they are animals after all). They call out to each other from as far as a quarter mile away, as they rush to connect with a loved one. They grieve together, and have been filmed placing branches and grass clumps on the carcass of a family member. Herds slow their pace when one of the elephants is hurt or carrying a deceased calf. Elephants emote together, sharing their joy and pain so no one elephant must feel alone.

I caught a glimpse of that last week when I was feeling isolated and was longing to be back in our old home to help out friends who are in need. I was crying as I drove the car while my three year old sat behind me. She heard my failed attempts to silence my sobs and asked me why. She may not be capable of understanding the entire situation, but she listened while I talked, mourned with me and then asked if I was still sad hours later. Sharing my sadness and longing made me not feel so alone. Sharing that brought us closer, and I felt loved and she felt included. Perhaps that is what our tears and emotions are for, not to isolate, but to come together; to rejoice and mourn, bond and love, just like elephants do.