Emotional minefield

Just a short post here. It's the second blog of the day; don't get too used to that! Lots of things on my mind today.

As I continue this journey, it's amazing what things end up setting off the tears and sadness. Sometimes, it's obvious. Many times, it's not. At least not to others. And that's okay. 

I watched an award show the other night. One that I normally don't watch: the ESPYs. These awards are giving to honor individuals or teams in the world of sports. Sometimes, it's all about the achievements in their area of expertise in sports. Often, they aren't just about the sports. Some great stories; the braveness of an athlete to admit to the world her true nature, in the face of criticism from many so that maybe she might save some others who want to live their lives as they truly are inside but face bullying or worse by the world. Another story about a football player whose daughter is facing the battle of her life with that horrible thing, cancer, and how the bond is so strong between this obviously outstanding man and his daughter, and how his team supports him through the journey, allowing him to be "a father first, and a football player, second." A woman who, after a brilliant college career, chose to serve her country, only to lose one of her arms--and she now devotes her time counseling other veterans. And the story that felt closest to my heart: the very brave young lady who was able to realize (with the help of a wonderful coaching staff, college, teammates, and even the opposing team) her dream of becoming a college basketball player, despite the ticking time-bomb of a brain tumor lurking in her head. She, like John, is now in heaven, but her family passed on her words to never give up, to fight. And during all of these stories, I cried. Hard. So hard, Elvis was convinced something was wrong. 

There's nothing wrong with crying. Don't misunderstand. John never understood why I would purposely watch certain movies, ones that were sure to make me cry. It's cleansing to cry, I'd tell him. 

I tell you, there are periods of time where I'm the most cleansed person on the planet. 

A lot of times in the last few years, I don't know what movies are safe for me to see in public anymore. Sometimes, I have to research a movie, risking some spoilers to make sure I am able to protect myself. Recently, I saw a wonderful play called Proof put on by a local theatre group (several friends were involved in the production). The afternoon before I went--having never seen the play or the movie based on the play--I messaged a couple of people in the play to determine if it was "safe." I figured I'd still go, but it would really affect where I'd sit and how much tissue would be placed in my purse. It was a marvelous play, and the cast member who contacted me said that it was tender but made me understand I was safe. He was right. Yeah, one part made me well up a little, but I think I would have BJC (Before John's Cancer). By the way, many of the people in the show (at least two cast members and the director) are friends, so I would have gone anyway, but am so glad I did. It did feel safe.

Beside movies, music can be an emotional minefield for me. And those, many times, can come out of the blue. A lyric, a musical phrase...and boom. Or the more obvious: music that John loved. And many times, it can really depend on what kind of day I'm having. 

I cried many times on the two trips to Italy. Seeing all the history...John was a history buff, and had a degree in history. How he would have loved the places I saw. And the artwork. And listening to the music. A couple of tough things happened to me, but ones that actually I don't regret happening...

One of the first couple of evenings we were in Florence, my new friends and I found a nice outdoor restaurant (heck, most of the restaurants in Florence are at least partially outdoors) on the Porta Rossa road. We kept hearing what sounded like gospel music nearby, mingled with shouts from a bar in another direction as the people were enjoying a soccer...oops sorry, football game. After we were finished, we decided to seek out the group. 

From what I could tell, it was some sort of music competition or outdoor open mic. A group was there singing beautiful gospel music--the group itself was excellent, and the only way I could tell that they were local is that there was the slightest hint of an Italian accent in their English lyrics. The director was from the United States, and would explain things in both English and Italian (Florence is a very metropolitan city, with a lot of expatriates from the United States, Canada, and England). I decided to record a few of these songs, and will post them eventually here. 

So...they started to sing a really clever gospel/jazz version of "One Hand, One Heart," from West Side Story. And as I taped the song, I cried pretty hard. Some local media guy, I'm sure, captured it on his camera, but I didn't care. It was beautiful. After the song was finished, another woman on the trip with us--another widow who I think lost her husband much more recently--came up to me and we wept in each other's arms. It felt so sad and yet so healing. I was very glad for the moment. 

Many evenings, I would stroll down to the Santa Maria Novella Piazza, which was a short block from the hotel. It was wonderful to get some gelato and sit and people-watch. Most evenings, there would be some sort of local music performing. Most of the time, I saw two gentlemen--one on violin, the other on clarinet, playing some really pretty music. At some point, they started playing a lovely version of the Pachelbel Canon, which was played at our wedding. The aforementioned woman went closer to listen to it, and started crying. This time, I went up to her and comforted her. I brought home a couple of CDs of their music. I haven't listened to it yet, but will. 

Certain hymns that I've sung with my mother I still can't sing to this day without crying. What's with that? No, that's a rhetorical question. 

Sometimes scenery will be the trigger. Lake Michigan, many times over the years, but more so now. The view of the vineyards in Florence, the city itself, and last year's trip to the Amalfi Coast. Buckets. But most times, I was able to keep that to myself, but truly, beautiful scenery--usually involving mountains or water, but sometimes other things, will truly move me.  Sunsets. Sunrises. Rainbows. Sometimes even the dark storm clouds. The beauty in a human face. The beauty in any animal's face. I think that's why I take photos. I love what I see, so I try to capture it, even though it will never be as lovely in the photo as it is to my eye and fragile heart.