And the man cried

“To weep is to make less the depth of grief.” ― William Shakespeare

I often wonder if there could be anything sadder than a man crying. Not the screeching and screaming of professional mourners or the weeping of battered men in Nyeri but the silent, almost stoic tears of a grown man. I don't watch movies where men cry, unless they are crying in battle, neither do I sit next to men at funerals or look at grooms at weddings. Because inevitably, I will begin to cry, and yes, I will make sounds professional mourner can only hope to attain one day. Mine do not come as calm sobs from a well brought up child. The strength of my vocals are best tested in my wails.

When my father lost his mother, I could not put into words the sadness I felt for him when he put his brave voice on to break the news to us. Not only was this burden of burying his mother squarely on his shoulder but so was the burden of telling every single person he knew. I do not believe people should announce their pain over the phone and write it in the newspapers. And yet, society demands that we share with them our troubles...So, with the strength of a spartan preparing for war, he embarked on the journey to bury his mother. He pored over budgets, he tried to laugh at our conversations, he remembered, he attended endless meetings, he shook hands and hugged and bravely, he drove back and forth from his mother's home to plan her 'final journey home'. We helped, we rallied behind him but I don't think anyone could have been strong enough. Best as we tried.

The actual day of the funeral, I saw him cry for the first time. The cry of a man. The cry of my father. No sound was made and he wiped his tears with a grace and strength I had never experienced before. There were no sobbing sounds, no wails were heard from the spartan who stood across the room from me. Just a steady stream of tears. I watched my pillar of strength cry.

A man does not cry to show weakness but to reach for his strength. A man cries with integrity, never with shame. He cries for release, not for attention. A man's cry has a purpose, every tear is accounted for. A man may not wail as a woman does but he leans on his loved ones and lets them carry him for a while. A man handles his pain and finds a way to move on. A man should never hide from those who matter the most. And a man should never run from his grief.

I dont think my heart has ever broken as hard or felt as heavy as it did at that moment. When we were done with the event, and everyone had packed up and drank our tea, we took a short walk and asked him what he wanted to do now that it was done:

"I just want to sit down with a hot cup of tea and watch football."

So we went home and let him.

“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before--more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.” ― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations