OCTOBER 7
She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin’d in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.—WILLIAM SHAKESPEAREThe picture here, from Twelfth Night, is of a woman who
assumed a mask of calm tranquility, while inside, “like a
worm i’ the bud,” the feelings were eating away. She smiled
through her grief—and was likened to stone.
Let it be a lesson to us! Holding tight to our feelings, trying
to keep a stiff upper lip, may present a soothing image to
the world. But at what cost? The cost of growing numb?
And for whose protection? Our own—that we not be
considered “too emotional”? That we be regarded as pillars
of stability and faith? For the protection of others, so they
don’t have to see how sad losing a loved one can make you
feel?
They know better, and so do we. And our closeness is
enhanced by sharing our grief, much more so than by the
misguided attempt to keep it all under control.
I will not take on a facade of false calm—and turn to stone.