It’s been three months, a year, or ten. Some say I should be over this, past it. Done. What do I say when they seek to stop the river running down my face?

Don’t stop my tears.

It may be the millionth time I’ve cried; I’ve lost count. Someone else is counting for me. Someone who invites them. They don’t threaten Him, or remind Him of their worst fear. He has no bubble to burst. His heart has broken to the fullest extent. And in His breaking, the world overturned. Death was dealt its death blow. Irony of ironies. How can healing come through breaking? Beauty from ashes? Diamonds from pressure? Gold from fire? How can life come from death?

I could go on.

Flowers and plants. Forest fires. Seasons. We see the cycle of life from death everywhere. It’s all around us. Yet we close our eyes. Shy away from the painful. Try to make a world where pain is pushed to the sidelines, not a main actor in our hearts. We want nothing to do with it.

But we cannot pretend forever. It’s coming. When death knocks at your door, stares you in the face, interrupts your comfortable life with its cold presence, you realize you cannot hide anymore. You cannot run. It touches the one you love, and if that weren’t enough, it says, “I’ll be back.”

Who will be next? How can one live with this presence?

I don’t know yet, but I know one thing. Don’t stop my tears.

With death of one you love comes pain. Horrible, wrenching pain. It’s overwhelming at first. Then the waves die down a bit. Things feel like they are settling. The pain may be less acute, but it is also ever present. It’s never going away. Evidence that my world was shaken. Scars. Bullet holes in my heart. I may heal, but I will never be the same. You lose a leg, and your new one doesn’t replace it. What you had is gone. It’s never coming back. And because of this, I cry. I cry for what was lost. I cry for what will never be. I cry for what I could not change. I cry for her pain. So many reasons. Sometimes I have no idea why.

Don’t stop my tears.

Why do I keep saying that? I’m a mother. When my children were babies, their cries told me something was wrong. It told me they needed something. I learned so quickly to listen to their cries and learn what they needed. Was it sleep? Food? Touch? Cleaning? Warmth? Medicine? Isn’t it our job to stop the tears?

Maybe. Sometimes. Tears show us that something is wrong. They are only one of many signs of wrongness. There are others. Since tears come easily for me, I also receive many attempts to stop my tears. “She’s not suffering anymore.” “The hardest part is over.” “You did your best.” “She’s with Jesus now.” “It’s okay.” I get distance, weird looks, plain avoidance. People who are uncomfortable with these levels of pain. Or just lots of words. Trying to put meaning to it. Trying to comfort. I see the attempt to help, and it touches me. But it also hurts me. Please don’t stop my tears.

How does it hurt?

It hurts because the appropriate response to death is sorrow. It hurts because it’s not okay. It hurts me because those words try to snatch me out of a place God has put me. It hurts me because it’s distance: trying to smooth over my pain instead of entering it. I don’t need answers or purpose or lifting from my pain. Remember? Life comes from death? Healing from brokenness? You can’t fix it for me. No one can but One. My healing is through the tears. It’s feeling the pain. And I need others to help me feel it.

Don’t stop my tears. Stopping my tears stops my healing. I need to cry. It’s remembering the moments. It’s going back to the flower gardens for the first time when Mom isn’t with me, and crying through it, remembering. It’s cheering on the Packers, tears flowing, with her empty chair next to me. It’s swimming with sea turtles, weeping as I remember the first time I saw a turtle was with her, and the last time I was snorkeling was with her. It’s tap dancing in her shoes, crying because she isn’t wearing them and tapping next to me.

The best way you can help bring comfort is to let me cry. Be with me. Ask about my mom. Give me chances to feel, to cry, to remember, to show you pictures, share one more piece of her jewelry with you. Give me chances for the pain to come out. To laugh one moment and weep the next. Be willing to listen. You can cry or not cry. I don’t care. Just be with me.

I need so many people. One person can’t do this all. My husband can’t do it all. One or two friends can’t do it all. I need my family to come around me and help me. One moment at a time. I need you.

Don’t stop my tears. There is healing in them. Jesus meets me there. It is only in the depths that I begin to know true comfort, deep praise, and find hope. Thank you to my two dear friends for sitting with me today and making space for my tears. It helped me so much.