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.
Mud and Sparkles 