Sometimes, the rough times open my eyes to the good stuff
For a few months after each major cancer treatment or other major medical event like this summer's surgery for hydrocephalus, I have found myself crying more easily than I used to. (I'm crying a bit as I type this.)
I cry when I think of the hugeness of the experiences.
I cry when I think of the fear I felt then, and the fear that stays.
I cry about what I've lost, and what I may not get back.
Which is to be expected, I suppose.
It goes beyond that, though. I cry when I hear about someone else's struggle, with cancer or otherwise.
I also tear up about the beautiful stuff, like a stunning view or a heartfelt musical performance, whether that performance is sensitive or just full-on energy.
Most of all, I cry when I think about the future, about the good things in my life and the end that may come. It'll come regardless, like it does for all of us.
I usually hide my tears, even from those closest to me. It's intensely personal and even I don't understand them.
After six months or so, when the trauma of the medical episode has passed, the tears come less often.
I miss those tears.
Because they remind me I'm alive, and that life is oh so precious – which is easy to take for granted.