"Not All Tears Are An Evil"

I had a really serious cry over my dad just now. I'm not talking about a couple of tears sparked by a particularly sad Iron & Wine song (preferably "The Trapeze Swinger"). No sir. I'm talking about one of those really ugly, painful crying sessions, when your face gets blotchy and snot runs out your nose. The kind when, after it stops, you suddenly realize you're laying sprawled out on your floor at midnight crying over a five-year-old letter.

Mere days after my dad suddenly passed away, I remembered that I had a letter he had written me for my high school graduation. He wrote each of us a letter when we graduated from high school, offering fatherly advice for the coming years. I hadn't thought about or looked at that letter since, well, since June 2007, probably. I knew it was stuffed inside a box filled with other important papers, brochures, tickets, booklets, and cards that I'd collected over the past few years--the paper detritus of my college experience. But I couldn't bear to go looking for that letter.

A few weeks, or a month later, I got as far as taking the envelope out of the box. I took one look at it, saw "Jessie" written in my dad's handwriting, and put the damn thing back in the box.

Tonight, I finally made myself reread that letter. Not because I felt I had to, but because I didn't want to put it off anymore. I was tired of procrastinating the tears I knew the letter would cause. So, I read it. It was rough. Back in spring of 2007, he was hospitalized with (excuse my poor grasp of medicine) an infarction of his spleen--meaning that because of a blood clot, the spleen was almost totally deprived of oxygen, causing tissue death and severe pain. Which is not good. But they were able to fix the problem, and he made a full recovery. Anyways, in the letter, he told me that his recent illness had taught him how important it is to cherish your family and loved ones. Agghhh. I wanted to tell him, "I've learned that lesson too well, mister! Because of you!" But I kept on reading the letter, and it was as though I could hear him speaking to me in his "lecture" voice. Filled with his best hopes and wishes for me, filled with love and good words and wisdom. Infused with prayer, and encouragement, and strength. Signed, simply, Dad.

And I cried, like a baby. Or rather, I cried like a broken-hearted adult who feels like a lost little girl again. A little girl who worships her daddy, who loves the warmth of his hand on the nape of her neck, making her feel safe. A little girl who always does her homework, because making him proud was a reward worth all the hard work. I sat there and cried and snuffled and wiped my puffy, unattractively crying face.

And it was such a bittersweet feeling. With the emphasis on both the bitter and on the sweet. I miss that man. I miss him so, so much. I only hope I can live up to this letter.

"Well, here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea comes the end of our fellowship in Middle-earth. Go in peace! I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil."
--Gandalf the White