A strange mix of tears

Tonight I am baking a cake, and drinking tea, and looking at photographs, and listening to some good tunes.

And tonight I am crying the strangest mix of happy tears, and wounded tears, and tired tears, and relieved tears, and hopeful tears.

I wore mascara today hoping it would help me not cry. I thought the prospect of black streaks upon rosy cheeks would dissuade the flow. Alas, it feels good to cry. Really, oddly, insanely good.

It's been a roller coaster of a week.   

Last Monday, January 28, my Dad had a minor heart attack during a game of racquetball. My Mom, who was suffering from a nasty cold at the time, called me at about 4:30 in the afternoon to ask me to go to the YMCA and take Dad to the Emergency Room. He had refused the costly trip from the ambulance after reporting chest pain and a numb left arm but had assured the EMTs he would get a ride and a check up just to be safe. Within a couple hours, he was in ICU, and by the next morning, doctors were wanting to ambulance him to a larger hospital a couple hours away for an angioplasty.

How quickly life turns!

By God's great mercy, however, the brand new heart catheter lab in our small town had opened that day. My Dad would become one of the first patients.

My Dad spent three nights in ICU. My Mom spent nearly every waking hour with him. Due to co-workers with sick kiddos, I ended up working overtime that week, but the coffee shop where I work is in the hospital so I was able to visit often, too.

The angiogram showed a 90 percent blockage in a major artery. Doctors inserted a stent, and my Dad is now making a speedy recovery from the surgery.

A week later, with my Dad on the mend and both of us looking forward to backpacking trips this summer, those are the relieved tears. I am so thankful for doctors who can fix the ones we love.

The wounded, tired and some of the hopeful tears stem from...conflict. I hate conflict. I am one of those people who will write an elaborate, heartfelt apology note...even if I have nothing to apologize for. I'll find something, and I'll be sorry for it. Anything to make things better again.

I am learning that is not a good thing to do. That is not making peace. It is living in fear, and it is dangerous because it leads me to a false sense of having forgiven the one who hurt me. So I'm working on these issues. I'm working on speaking up when something is not right. However, I have not learned what to do when I do speak up and my adversary speaks louder and meaner and harsher than me.

Last Friday, at the end of an exhausting, draining week, I addressed an issue with a new co-worker in a reasonable--albeit tired--tone. She yelled at me. I tried to offer to talk it out, and she yelled at me again. I drove home crying, cried into my boyfriend's arms, cried as I brushed my teeth that night, cried the next day on a walk, and cried today after a miserable day of not talking to each other and feeling her disdain washing over me all day as we worked awkwardly side by side.

I hate conflict. Hate it. Hate, hate, hate it. I admire peacemakers because they are so strong. I want to be like that. But I'm scared. And I feel so small. So wounded.

So I cry wounded tears tonight. And I pray God will heal the wounds and show me how to be strong and how to truly forgive. And in the tears, between sips of tea, I feel hope rising. Hopeful tears. They sting less.

As for the happy tears? I just had dinner with my boyfriend. That makes me happy. Eight months into our relationship, and my heart still skips when I think about him. As I reflect on a rough week, he is a bright spot in many of the days. I would say he's the high spots on the roller coaster, but a more accurate description is that he is the harness. He held me tight through the ups and downs. I hope he can say the same about me.

Happy tears. Those are the best kind. I'm saving those for last and finishing this post with a smile and a hopeful look toward tomorrow as life continues on, with all its twists and turns.