Friday, 28 December 2012

White Bleeding

The tears I cry for my late father are unlike any I have cried before; fat, full and frequent, they stream down my face soaking clothes and tissues alike. They arrive unbidden from some deep unconscious place in my chest and even as they fall, I wonder at their form.

I remember my first yoga teacher telling me that tears are 'white bleeding', that shedding them is healing for they carry cortisone from the body. But these tears catch me unawares; they are an embarrassment to those around me when the sight of one of my father's favourite foods confronts me in the supermarket, or I open a letter in a waiting room to find his new bus pass complete with frail, faintly smiling picture. 

The tears are a marvel, unlike any I have shed before, but the pain they bring with them is overwhelming and I long for an end to these days of sorrow.

1 comment:

Pawlie Kokonuts said...

Just learning of this. Poetically and powerfully stated. Please accept my heartfelt sympathies, lo these several months late.