Still Waiting To Cry

I was in a recent discussion with someone who'd just lost his father. He was dealing with the myriad emotions of someone who realized that he would never get to know his father as he always hope someday he would. So never having really known his dad, he was dealing with a bunch of emotions he didn't know what to do with because he didn't fully understand what he was feeling. His tearful sister asked him had he cried yet. When he replied, "No", she told him that it would eventually hit him.

As I sat there listening intently, I found myself drifting off into the mental imagery of my own scenario of losing a parent.

I passed the joint, and excused myself to answer the phone. When I picked up the receiver, I was stunned by the voice on the other end.

"Hello Toby!"

This couldn't be good. The only people who referred to me by that nickname were family members from Atlantic City. I'd left that name behind with all the rest when I left, glad to be away from a life filled with people I didn't care for but still had to interact with.

"I called to tell you that your mom died last night."

"Okay, thanks for letting me know. I'll be there in a couple of days."

As I just stated, my so-called extended family consisted mostly of people for whom I cared very little and my only real connection to them was through my mother.

Funny thing is that when I heard the [bad] news, my first reaction after the initial shock, was relief at the fact that I was no longer tethered to "these people" and after the funeral services, I would never have to see any of them ever again.

After the phone call, which completely sobered me up, I left the rest of the gang still partying in my New York apartment, to go for a walk ...a long walk. I barely noticed the biting chill in the air as I walked through the winter night. I strolled along the "promenade" which was the infamous "meeting place" there in Brooklyn Heights, but this time I walked in solitude. Despite all the people there, all the come hither looks from those I usually hoped to meet, cruising for sex was the furthest thing from my mind.

My thoughts were all over the place, but one kept nagging at me. Why wasn't I despondent and weepy and all those things you'd expect in such a situation? Perhaps I was still in shock ...that's what I'd heard so often. Eventually it would hit me and I'd be overcome with grief. But now, my mind was busy figuring out how I was going to juggle time off from work and just what my responsibility would be in all this (since there'd been no prior plans or discussions). Would I be expected to step in a take over ...being the only son and all, or would I be required to simply "be there".

Well, I went to Atlantic City and exchanged a lot of insincerity with family members. All the details and arrangements had been taken care of by the aunts and uncles (my mom's sisters and brothers). I wasn't required to do anything ...except pay for it. I sat stoically through the service and the interment, still waiting for "it" to hit me, but nothing. I wrote the check, and left knowing I'd never see any of them again.

I returned to New York, this time feeling a little different. This time I truly felt that I was in this alone. I missed the sense of my mom's presence, but still, no grief to speak of. For me, this "alone-ness" was not a sad thing...I've always been comfortable with solitude. For me this meant freedom ...freedom to do absolutely anything I wanted. That was when I left the East Coast, severing all those unwanted relationships, leaving all those bad feelings behind.

That was 35 years ago and I still haven't felt that rush of grief; I still haven't cried. In fact, I haven't cried since I was a very young child. I suspect I've forgotten how. There've been many situations since where I wish I could've purged my emotions in such a way but that mechanism no longer seems to function.