What do you do with those tears?

I sat on the Oxford Tube heading to London this morning. Beautiful, beautiful, warm sunshine. Listening to an accidental playlist I don’t remember making. As we approached Lewknor unexpected tears kicked in. Alan Silvestri’s Forrest Gump? Christ. Silent weeping at the back end of a packed coach to London. 

I started the surreptitious eye wiping routine. Left cheek. Swift wipe with the back of the hand. Wait a mo. Right hand, right cheek. Swipe. 

The woman sitting next to me studiously studied a Housing related journal. Two beautiful young boys on the other side of the aisle silently swung their legs, gadgets charging. Absorbed in technologies that weren’t a distant speck when we used to chug up to London on days out. Bus and heavy haulage spotting. Waiting to get there.

Are we nearly there yet?

I stared up at the skylight trying to back the tear flow. A half arsed study of sky through dirty streaked tinted plastic. Forrest Gump. Where did that come from? Those fucking tears. Falling in a space of strangers.

What do you do with those tears?

The Bayswater Road was closed. I got off at Shepherds Bush.

Wave for Change Day. Muswell Hill. Mixing, mingling and fun. Thorny issues around who speaks for who discussed in a space of openness and acceptance. I rolled with the waves. Listening to people talk about lives and experiences. Imagined futures and fears.

My phone ran out of charge on the way home.


I turn to memories. Dusty photos and love. The kind of love that makes tears tumble at the drop of an unexpected tune.

Pembrokeshire. Circa. the good times. Paddling in the shallow shallows. Orange binoculars. Early Learning Centre police tabard. Baseball cap. Hoofing up your shorts. Living your best life.

I love you.

3 thoughts on “What do you do with those tears?

  1. Memories…..they can never be taken away. Totally get the suddenness that emotions can roll over you. One occasion my emotions were triggered were as a result of walking past the children’s ward where I held Chloe until she died in my arms. This was over 15 years after she died! Powerful feelings. Hold on to those positive memories Sara xx Thanks for sharing so honestly 😊💙

  2. My dearest sister died a month ago. She was my son’s godmother and my ally, my support who always listened, who was angry when I was angry..and wept with me when my life is /was just – seems – just too hard. Me hers also. I miss her ..
    .’ hi you’ a soft Scottish accent – way she started every telephone call. And she was my son and his poorly little wife’s – Aunty Liz – who was always theirs – always constant -always rang them for good and too often to ease bad things .Always…And she loved them.
    I was in Oxfam had bought a hand bag and thinking “will tell Liz this evening” – My son rang me..told me the news.
    I sat in a corner where toys are – in a little school chair. Too shocked.. to move. Thinking “She spoke to me last night”….
    Extraordinarily I had caught a bus rather than driving. I sat on bus – lady next to me – tears started to run down my face, could not stop them – turned to lady said – “sorry – my sister died”..
    She looked at me coldly – got up and said “I am sitting over there”
    And she did.

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