It’s no spoiler to tell you that men are different from women. I’ve been exposing Dominique to that beautiful truth for many years now.
When she sat at our kitchen table yesterday, an ordinary Tuesday, she began to cry. “I’m just so tired,” she said. For me, completely understandable. Now, men will often look at us like we’re on fire, and something must done. And it makes me laugh, because maybe they’re not so far from the truth after all, it’s just that we are built to put out our own fires, with the gentle flow of tears. Oh, those beautiful drops are always at the ready. With no need for alarms or sirens, they know when it’s time. I can hear them, mid eye-lid, “Are we going? Is it time? I’m ready, let’s go. Here we go.” And down the tears come.
My mother always called them tears of tenderness. Because they weren’t there out of anger or sadness, only comfort. The ebb and flow of life’s tide.
So often the things we fear turn out to be gifts. I like thinking that my brain tells my heart, daily, go ahead, set the world on fire, we’ve got you covered.
