crocodile tears

"An insincere display of grief, as in 'When the play's star broke her leg, her understudy wept crocodile tears.' This term comes from the mistaken notion that crocodiles weep while eating their prey, one held in ancient Roman times. The actual term was picked up by Shakespeare and many other writers after him, and remains current. [Late 1500s]"

"Crocodile tears can also be used to describe large raindrops (about a third of an inch in diameter)."

growing up i was taught that it was improper to cry over emotional matters, that tears were usually an expression of feeling sorry for yourself and therefore only to be reserved for actual physical pain, such as falling off your bicycle, hard, or getting your middle finger sprained in a basketball game. my parents yelled at me when i cried, as i suppose anything a little girl would cry about was deemed too insignificant for tears. i learned to hold them back, and even as an adult to hide them away and only occasionally let them gush forth in heaving sobs, which the whole time i'm letting go of, i am feeling guilty for doing so. with me it's usually all or nothing. i don't know if that's a healthy practice, and it certainly doesn't provide much relief. my dad always called them crocodile tears, so i equate crying with selfishness.

a few days ago i lost the dearest friend who is in any sort of physical proximity to me. i do have friends at home, but that's 2,000 miles away. and this person had become as close to me as anyone i've known for a lifetime. i lost him through my own stupidity, through my own misguided actions. and now he's gone and my apartment haunts me. i look over at the table where we had dinner so often. i open the cupboards and see the food i bought in case he dropped by for a visit. today i washed out the coffee pot, realizing i had not made coffee since i made it last sunday morning, him sitting in the patch of sun falling from my kitchen skylight, telling stories, making me laugh. i can't stand to throw out his coffee cup, his mille bornes game, his pictures. and i am incredibly, truly alone.

i lay on the couch this after noon watching a film, chinatown. outside it rained in a near biblical fashion, with drops at least a third of an inch in diameter. i caught myself hugging the pillow beside me and slowly i became aware of the tears also running down my face. i did not feel guilty, and they were not selfish. i suddenly knew that sometimes it must be ok to cry. i miss you my friend, and i am sorry. i wish you the best.