But the Tears Don�t Come

Sorry to do this two entries in a row... but... this entry is really long. Like... really long. Like... 5 pages single spaced in Word long. There's a lot of desctiption and detail...

Also, it�s a heavy one. It�s really serious and somber... I�m not kidding.

At first, I considered saving it and posting it some other time... because it�s really not specific to here and now... but... it�s relevant to my mind... and... as it�s my diary... I can write whatever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want.

And, as you are the reader, you can choose to read now, read later, or read never. It�s your choice.

Don�t say I didn�t warn you...

I don�t cry.

Ok... so... it�s very rare that I cry... well... now, at least.

I used to cry all the time. I would cry at the smallest things. I mean, I�m just as emotional now as I ever was... but... I used to be able to cry on cue...

The day that ended happened in October of my junior year of high school... which would make that 1996, I do believe...

I remember the scene so vividly. At the time, we were living in Ahma�s house. (I still, to this day do not know why I call her Ahma. It means, literally, �up mother� in Vietnamese, pronounced... �Ahhh-Ma�, but... it was my father�s mother... and she was the whitest white-y white-ler you could ever meet...)

Flashback... My grandmother was a Christian Scientist. No... that�s not the religion having to do with L. Ron Hubbord... but... it is based on pretty much any other Christian religion with one major difference � no medicine. In Sunday school, we were taught that �man is not made up of brain, blood, bones and other material elements...� Basically, it�s the belief that we are all spirits roaming around. We do not have bodies, and, as such, if you are sick, you are ill because of an error in your way of thought with God. So, in order to get better, you pray. No doctors. No medicine.

Sounds interesting, doesn�t it? But I went to the doctor all the time. I was accident prone, spending at least 6 weeks a year between 6th and 10th grades on crutches. Ahma, however, wasn�t into going to the doctor for herself. She came down with a cold in September of my sophomore year. I remember in October, I was in the Fall Play. By this point, I had stopped asking my father to attend my school functions... and Ahma served as the designated, obligated parent. But she didn�t go. I remember her telling me that she was still ill and that she was sorry. I was so angry... if only I had known...

She avoided going to the doctor until December. She just couldn�t shake the cold. After multiple doctor and specialist visits, she was diagnosed with lung cancer. We were always a bit skeptical of the diagnosis, as she had never smoked or done any of the things associated with lung cancer.

In the beginning, I would accompany her to visit the doctors. I had just finished drivers ed, and I still had my learners permit. On a few occasions, despite her immediate problem, she wanted me to drive, no matter who else was around. At first, it was just a game. She laughed about the doctors and we made fun of tacky waiting rooms and strange nurses together. That was just the way she was... here she is... dying... just... wasting away... and she�s laughing. She was so good at finding some sort of pleasure in everything.

As the school year went on, she was getting worse. She started going into and out of the hospital more and more... she started going into nursing homes, too. We both distanced ourselves from each other. I hated the atmosphere of the cancer wards at the hospital and I didn�t like the sense of imminent death at the nursing homes. And it�s not that she didn�t want to see me... she just didn�t want me to see her like THAT. I threw myself into school and extra-circular activities... and my social life picked up, too.

As soon as school was out, I got a job. I was never asked, but the thought of sitting around or having to sit with my grandmother was not appealing. By this time, I was 16, I had my drivers� license and I got a job at a restaurant, working 50+ hours a week. I often worked double shifts and I made great friends with everyone at work. Of course, the restaurant being near the local community college, everyone was around 21. After work, I used to go to my new friends� houses and drink. This, in fact, is the summer that I woke up the morning after a night of heavy drinking, half clothed, in a bed with a man and a woman at a place other than which I remember starting off. I was looking for an escape from reality. I wanted a way out. I had found it.

At the end of the summer, it was time to move. The lease on our apartment across town was up, so my father and I moved into Ahma�s house. The basement was my domain. Looking back, I think it was my ideal living situation, minus the whole still living at home thing. When my junior year of high school started, I was heavily involved in student council and bad. I still worked at least 20 hours a week. Ahma was getting worse.

During an exploratory procedure in early August, the doctors realized they had been wrong � it had been breast cancer all along. They had wasted time on specific chemotherapies and other treatments. The clock was against them.

She was now in the hospital all the time. I never set foot inside of the hospital. I remember, once, I asked to accompany Aunt Tori to visit. Upon her discussion with Ahma, I was informed that I would not be seen, that day. Ahma looked horrid and didn�t want to see me. I was sad, yet relieved.

Finally, the doctors concluded that all they could do was to make her comfortable; it was only a matter of time. Ahma didn�t want to be in the nursing homes, anymore. Dad and Tori couldn�t keep up, so we hired a company with 24-hour home service. Ahma had more medications than Carnie Wilson had fat rolls (pre-stomach stapling procedure)... and of those medications, she had more narcotics than many high-end street dealers. Periodically, I would pace in the den, just outside of the double glass-paned doors leading into her room. I would peer in through the worn, now almost translucent curtains, which were as old as my Aunt Tori, to see what I could see. I would occasionally see the shadow of a bony figure with a few strands of stringy hair, cast on the ground by the setting sun. I never entered.

Finally, in the middle of October, Ahma decided she was going to be a Christian Scientist, dammit. She kicked the drugs. All of them. She was going to be clean and sober. She was tired of living in a drug induced euphoria... but who could blame her? The first day, she was cranky as fuck. By day three, she was clean. Tori was rushing around the house, searching for Ahma�s best head wrap.... Ahma wanted to see me.

I found it a little bit funny. Here I was, waiting in the den of my house, waiting to be seen. I felt like I was being seen by the president of the company. The nurse on duty came to the door and opened the curtains and invited me in. I entered the room and Ahma barked at the nurse to begin preparing her dinner. Dude.... my grandmother had become the Godfather. Granted, it was only over the house, but it was still power that was back in her hands. I can�t, for the life of me, remember what was said that afternoon. I do remember looking at her and seeing how much she had changed. The beautiful golden hair I had once watched spin around the room as she taught ballet class was now sitting in a bag on the dresser. Ahma had always been bony, but now, all of her skin was just hanging off of her. The piles and piles of makeup that once cluttered the vanity had been replaced by hundreds of bottles of pills. The hissing sound of the oxygen tank was deafening. But for the first time in months, she had life. Her eyes were bright and focused. Her smile was big as ever. While not as forceful as usual, her voice was strong, yet so compassionate. It was Ahma.

I remember tuning into the conversation and having d�j� vu. It took a minute to figure out where I had been in this situation before, and it suddenly clicked. The last time I had seen my grandfather, he gave me the talk. �I�m not always going to be around. But I will be with you, watching you, always. I�m sorry that I probably won�t be around to see you graduate college or get married... but just know that I love you.� Mind you, this conversation had taken place during the summer between my 5th and 6th grades. But, even though it was almost 6 years later, I knew. I burst into tears. She leaned forward and took me into her arms. Her now wilting arms stretched around my body, and as I put my ear on her chest, I thought about how even though I could feel all of her bones, I had never felt a better embrace in my entire life. As I listened to her waning heart beating, I could feel her love. As the heartbeat grew stronger and raced a bit more, I became strangely soothed.

The tears stopped. We sat up and smiled at each other. I looked one last time into her eyes and as I walked out of the room, she said, �Have a good night at work. And be good, for goodness sake. I�ve got my eye on you.� I smiled. �I�ll see you soon, darling.�

Upon returning home from work that evening, I heard my father and Tori talking about Ahma. She had gone back to taking all of her drugs, again. She was giving up.

Three mornings later, I awoke on my own. I heard nothing upstairs, but I lay in bed, knowing exactly what had happened. About ten minutes later, Tori walked halfway down the stairs. I could see the silhouette of her from her shins to her stomach. On the wall, the sun cast the shadow of her face. Watching the shadow, I head her whisper, �Robs... Ahma passed away.� She turned and walked back upstairs. I had no tears.

An hour later, people were running around the house doing all sorts of random things. While my father and Tori were in the bathroom yelling at the nurse for pouring the liquid morphine down the toilet (my family puts the �fun� in �dysfunctional�!), I slipped into the room in which my grandmother lay. I walked to the closet and wiped the dust from the handles which hadn�t been touched in weeks. Opening the door and illuminating the space, I stared at her favorite black & white polka dotted dress and her ugly pair of black pleather type ankle boots with the faux fur. I ran my hand along the base of the mirror in which Ahma used to stare for what seemed like an eternity when we were getting ready to go see a show at Drury Lane. Walking down the single step into the rest of the room, I looked at the pictures on her desk of her days as a Radio City Music Hall Rockette and assorted pictures of my father and aunt. I turned and looked at her peaceful body, feeling no more pain, no longer feeling the effects of medications. Now, for weeks, she had kept a pile of papers and random items on her right-hand side of her bed. But, now, it was completely clear. All of the papers had been shuffled and assorted and placed neatly in labeled piles on the dresser. When I was little, I remember the excitement of Friday evenings. Friday night meant that I got to sleep in Ahma�s bed. I always slept on the right-hand side and my favorite pillow was placed on the bed to prepare for my arrival. For months, I hadn�t seen �my side� of the bed. Today, however, it was clear and my favorite pillow was there.

All I could do was smile.

Since that last conversation, crying has been very difficult for me.

I mean, take now, for example. I have a lot going on in my life. Some positive, but much of isn�t so positive. I often think that I should just come home and cry. But, I can�t. Sometimes I think just a really good cry would do me a lot of good � make me feel better. But the tears don�t come.

Maybe it�s because the passing of my grandmother forced me to grow up and purge the tears.

Or maybe it�s because I�m so much stronger than I was before that point. Ahma raised me. She was the one who made sure that I was doing well in school. She was the one to applaud my achievements and to help commiserate over my failures. Her passing put me on my own. Completely on my own.

Perhaps it�s because I know that it could be worse. Sure... losing the roof over your head, not being able to cover tuition, harsh words or disagreements are bad experiences. Juggling them all at once really sucks... but... nothing hurts as much as the loss of a loved one.

Love conquers all. It valiantly comes to the rescue in every chance it has... until the passing of the heart. As long as I have love in my heart for myself... as long as I meet people with an open mind and an open heart... as long as I continue to love those around me... love will conquer all.

But, I�ve also learned that love doesn�t die. I don�t look upon the pictures of my grandmother with sadness. I don�t think about how much I miss her or how much I wish she were still here.... I think about the good times. I think about the trips to the Dairy Queen and the route we used to navigate the Jewel/Osco. I think about the songs she used to sing and all of our goofy sayings. It�s all happiness. It�s all smiles.

Maybe I�m better off that the tears don�t run, anymore. Or maybe I�m cursed and will someday explode.

But just know this, it takes a lot to move me to tears.

�The only person worth your tears would never make you cry.�

So, perhaps, I�ll go my entire life without ever having the real need to cry, again.

But, I suppose there will be a little wallowing and misery before the need to cry becomes moot.

But, again, I hold hope that someday, I will find someone with whom I belong with for the rest of my life...

Someone who will only have the opportunity or the cause to cry from one of us passing on from one world to the next.

Until then, it�s one day at a time.

And tomorrow... is another day.

thanks for hanging in, kids...

~robert