Cry Love or Parenting through John Hiatt

John Hiatt said it best, even though he was coming at it from a different context...tears of an angel, spilling all over your heart.  That's how I feel when my kids cry 'that cry'.  The one the comes from the deep, scary hurt of not understanding. When a friend, a parent or even a stranger does something (purposefully or not)that is so antithetical to how they view the world this pain pours out from them, sad and melodious, soft and old, fearful and yet searching for new, solid ground.

This cry, THIS cry, this cry!  It slays me. I ache inside knowing that another bubble has burst for them, another lesson learned, a new understanding of the perfect imperfect.  I want to fix it.  I want to rail at the universe even though I know that in time--whether it's 10 minutes or 10 days--they will have forgotten or assimilated or whatever little ones do when they face such an experience.

In the face of this cry I push down my eternal need to fix, to help them run from the feelings by logically talking them through it--because those are my issues, damn it!  Instead I curl silently around them, soft and squishy, surrounding them with the feels and smells of the familiar and safe. (I don't smell, according to my daughter, as good as the burnt toast smell as my husband, but I come in a close second with a 'donut powder' smell.)

Sometimes we just sit there quietly until they get up silently and run away to play.  Sometimes they fall asleep, the wet, sobby hiccups making them feel smaller in my arms then they actually are.  Sometimes, depending on the act that precipitated this, I'll feel my way into the subject, trying to put the pieces together for them, and me, and the other person (typically the other sibling). 

But what I love the most is when they start talking--sometimes about the incident, most of the time not.  Just quiet chatter, about nothing and everything.  Eventually a few giggles, a more certain tone, a straighter back.  It's not a 'teaching' moment, but at the same time it isn't not one.  It's organic and self-directed and it--calming, and soft and lovely--grows, pushing the ache aside, leaving a bright, clean energy like what exists after a good, cleansing rain.  And best of all, we both feel better for it, and life moves on with a different, better perspective.

John Hiatt says it best: have a little faith me...when the tears you cry are all that you believe, give these lovin arms a try...from a whisper start, have a little faith in me.

While obviously not written as one, this is a parenting mantra I can get behind--no matter what form or face it takes, families having a little faith in each other is a pretty good place to be, especially during times when a lot answers, time and certainty feel scarce.