Permission to Cry

This entire week has been about Down syndrome. If I’ve ever wondered what I am to do in life this week was surely full of answers. One day a genetic counselor calls to speak about a new parent, another day we plan for the Buddy Walk at my home with our committee and all of our kids sharing a meal and sitting outside in the evening, still another is greeted with a gathering of moms and kids sharing the afternoon around a backyard picnic table and kiddies pool. All of these experiences are unique, varied, and wonderful, as our kids are. The way in which we grow by these experiences is beyond my own understanding at times, but I most certainly recognize the fact that we are changing by the lessons of our children, the glimmers of acuity from conversations with each other, and the transformation that occurs within us.
Some moments take me back to the core of my own feelings seven years ago. I held the six-week old baby girl against my skin, rocking in the shade of the table’s umbrella, talking with our newest mom. We answered questions that were asked as four of us sat around and snacked on lunch, feeling relaxed and positive about our kids playing and conversing, but something was working in me that I couldn’t identify until after the baby was placed back in the carrier, and hugs were given as she drove away.
We cleaned up some of the paper plates as our children took turns receiving help with dressing, snacking, toileting, or displays of defiant persistence without feeling the pressure of performance or judgment of any kind.
At one moment I froze while holding the collection of plates in my hand. I turned to my friend and said, “She needs to let it all go...We made it seem so easy, so natural by the way we have grown accustomed to life.”
“I was just thinking the same things,” my friend replied.
“We have to call her,” I said.
We continued to share our own stories of falling apart, when we felt the pressure filling our chest, stiffening our backs, and straining our necks. We shared the moments when we found our own space, away from everyone wanting to help, to let the tears flow and the rage escape. That release was essential to the progress we made as a result of crying the tears and asking the questions we had inside.
Do we need permission to cry? It is yours, freely given and expected. Yours to keep and use at your discretion as you see fit. Your new baby in your arms, a fearful doctor’s appointment, transitions from early start programs to pre-school, I.E.P. meetings, or just play-dates with other kids and moms. We don’t need to be so brave all of the time. The crying times we all have in solitude, are the same ones we talk about as moms when we come together at picnics or support group meetings. We can laugh about how we had to sneak away, or wait until the room was empty, or used the noise and flow of the shower to wash away our pain. We laugh as we recall the countless times our tears have healed and strengthened us as a result of allowing them to fall, allowing ourselves to crumple underneath the demands we place upon ourselves.
You know what I will say next. The very weakness we allow ourselves to feel will be replaced with the strength God has to offer. Feel the power of turning all of your pain over. Feel the burden lifted right off of your shoulders. Ask for the help, and it will be given to you, and your thankful spirit will rejoice. The load will be lighter. You will feel the cheer and confidence you need to do your job well. So, go ahead and cry.