I have never been a particularly emotional person. I lean more towards reason and logic. While I’ve always been capable of sensitivity and compassion, I rarely allowed myself to let tears flow in front of anyone else. The exception to this was my husband. That’s how I knew that he was someone special: I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I allowed myself to cry. I allowed him to take care of me. Before he came into my life, I kept my emotions to myself. Once I met him, I still kept them from everyone else. As I’ve gone through my life, I’ve opened up to people more and more. I’m honest about my experiences, and even about my feelings; but still, I didn’t cry.
That all changed the moment I held Lincoln in my arms. It wasn’t when my hospital bed was surrounded by people, telling me he was gone. It was when he placed in my arms. The tears came freely. I don’t remember who was in the room, and it wouldn’t have mattered. This perfect child was worth crying over. As the hours passed, the tears would come and go. When they stopped, it was mostly out of pure exhaustion. I had none left, or so I thought. Over the last (almost) 9 months, I have cried more tears than I could ever accumulate in my previous 26 years. I thought I knew what pain was. I thought I knew real heartbreak. I thought I had felt sorrow. I was wrong. This kind of pain brings on a whole new type of crying. It is unrelenting. Once it starts, it’s difficult to stop. It becomes hard to breathe. I can honestly say I had never truly broken down and fully sobbed until I lost Link.
For the first 6 months, I cried every single day; often times, more than once. As more time goes by, and I find ways to experience joy, I find that I don’t cry as often. This does not mean that I don’t miss him. I will always miss him. No amount of time will change that. I carry on with life, but I still miss him. There are days, when I haven’t cried in a while, that tears will force themselves out of me; and there is little that I can do to stop them. On these days, I embrace the tears. Because now, even 9 months later, that little boy is worth crying for; but he is also worth living for. I love him and I miss him, but I don’t cry every day. I know he wouldn’t want me to. So I live and I laugh. I paint and I write. I talk about him and I talk about other people’s pain. I still cry more than I used to, but that’s because I now have more love in me than I ever could have imagined. Every tear is worth it.