The One About Seeing.

I have never been the type of person to hold back tears just to look good or strong; I cry when I need to. I'll cry at a funeral. I'll cry at a wedding, if it's two people I love getting married. I’m just saying – I’ve been at a wedding where it was a friend getting married to a complete idiot, and I did not cry at that particular wedding.

I cried on Saturday, because they played The Last Post on Radio-Canada as part of Remembrance Day coverage. Last time I had heard that, I was at my grandfather’s funeral, at the National Military Cemetary. The monument he designed lies feet away from where he does. So I cried for him. I’m proud of him. That's him unveiling the monument two years ago:

A friend recently told me she was celebrating a broken heart. She said the sorrows in her life she could think about with a smile instead of a sharp pain in her heart were the ones she had cried all the tears in the world for. She wished me tears to help with the pain and avoid festering of the wound. I thought that was the wisest wish I had ever gotten. Her celebrating her broken heart was also a pleasant surprise for me – how can you celebrate having your heart broken? So I went back upstairs, had a cup of coffee, and tried to make sense of it.

Then it just hit me, and I understood. He does not weep who does not see. I can’t take the credit for that one – Victor Hugo said it.

I’m celebrating my grief by giving it a name. I am celebrating, because although this pain is sharp and had all kinds of edges, it goes down easier if I look at it with a smile. I see, therefore I weep.

So, friend, you know who you are, thank you for the wish.