She never cried when her husband--my father, passed away;
Although the tears came streaming down her face during the funeral, she never cried a drop thereafter.
She never cried when her dad--my grandfather passed away;
I remember the very day--while driving me home she said with a certain softness: “Pa died.”
She never cried when I told her what happened to me--
Not because she didn’t care, but because she thought it healthy to learn and move on.

I was never, and will never be a replica of my mother
Whose tears I’ve only seen once or twice in the past seventeen years.
I am a crier, a thinker, a ponderer of the past
Who cannot bear to hold it in, even when people are watching.

I cry to let go.
How she lets go I will never know.