Crying Man

The other day I saw a crying man. Among shoppers and home-bound school children. His feet pounded the pavement with powerful strides, at a running pace. His fists punched forward at an unseen adversary. His eyes overflowed with the salty water of sadness and anguish. I can only guess at his pain and wonder about the hugeness of something that would let him display his inside, so openly, outside.

As I drove by, I cried with him.

I cried for him and for myself.

I cried, hoping that he would find some strength to match his pain, or at the very least, that he reached a safe place where there were open arms and tissues.

This week, in anticipation of today, I have had moments of inside-out. In the middle of a lesson, or a conversation. At the till in Tesco, or at the vets. Rather than creeping up on me and being a surprise, sadness has been another layer under the skin, leaking out.

Today is the 6th anniversary of Tony’s death. We miss him and love him, every day and always.