Fears for Tears

Well, the day is almost over, and I'm finally back at home and starting to unwind. And I hope that this time finds all of you cozy, and starting to unwind, and where you want to be.

I had an interesting occurrence on Christmas Eve. No, my grandma did not get run over by a reindeer, nor did the big inflatable snowman at the funeral home come to life and play with me, nor did Hermey the elf dentist show up unexpectedly to look at my sore tooth (unfortunately).

I went to the Christmas Eve service at my sister's church. It's not my church, I don't have a church. But if I were to go to any church, I'd pick my sister's. I like their services.

I swung by my folks' house on the way for a nice meal, then we all went together. It was cold and snowy and dark. We went inside and found a seat, and shortly my sister came along to sit with us.

James played a song on the organ, and then the handbells. My brother-in-law, a layreader, took his place up front at the altar, and the service began. We stood, the acolytes (including DJTaytieMac) brought the crosses up the aisle, and the joyous music of the season began to play.

And I began to think. Think about the past year of my life. The past three months. The past month. The past 24 hours.

And there in St Mary's, the tiny 97-year old stone church, in front of (as we say in the south) God and everybody, I began to cry.

The congregation began to sing "Angels We Have Heard On High." I tried to sing, then I tried to mouth the words. It wouldn't come. I was crying too hard. I cried through the call to worship and through the first and second readings. I cried through the sweet (and surprisingly humorous) sermon. The prayers, the hymns, the carols, the reading of the Creed. I cried so much that I would have never gotten my communion wafer down had it not been for the wine that came after. ("Take this bread, it is the body of Christ. Take this wine, it will keep you from choking to death.")

Now, there are a couple of things to be said about this experience. First of all, it was quite embarrassing, sitting there crying in front of five members of my family and a churchful of acquaintances and strangers. But it didn't matter, because embarrassing or not, it came and I had no control over it. It was just a dam that chose a really bad time to burst.

But here's the revelation. I was sitting in between my parents. My sister was one person away. Finally, during the second carol I stood to cry through, she looked over at me. The brother-in-law and DJTaytieMac were both at the front altar, facing me. There were people behind me who I knew.

No one offered to help.

My mom, normally the most mothering person on earth, totally ignored the fact that her youngest was sitting beside her bawling her eyes out. My dad did nothing, and although he can't see, I certainly thought he would be able to hear me. My sister looked at me, then looked away. My brother-in-law was facing me; he looked into his literature.

Only at one point did my dear tender-hearted nephew bend down to catch my eye under the advent candles; he smiled and waved.

There was even a point in the service where the line was mentioned about the importance of "supporting a friend who is sad." Hell, I almost just raised my hand. "Here! Here's someone!"

By the time the service ended, the tears were starting to dry. I shook some hands and headed towards the door to the cold outside. At the door I met Father Russ, who gave me a huge bear hug and told me Merry Christmas. And I climbed in the car with Mom and Dad, where nothing was said.

Afterwards we went to my sister's house for a small get together. People were nice. The brother-in-law rubbed my arm and offered drinks, and Taytie indulged in his favorite past-time, "hang on Bet."

And then I started to think. You know, maybe tears just frighten people. If most of us were to see a woman - or God forbid, a man - standing on the street crying, I don't think many of us would go up and ask if we could help. We're most likely to cross to the other side of the street.

So my crying went ignored, and after I finally stopped everyone was nice and cheery to me. It was strange. But I understand. A held hand or an arm around the shoulder would have made a huge difference, but I understand.