The best thing we can do for each other is cry together

On Monday, midmorning, in a cold wind, I visited the camping grounds under I40 as I frequently do, to say hello to the people living there. This day I was investigating who was camping and whether they had a need for firewood. A friend had offered some extra she had from a felled tree in her backyard. I approached a group of five who stood and sat around a green metal barrel with a fire in it. I hadn't met any of them, so we introduced ourselves with smiles. After confirming they yes, please, definitely needed firewood, the man closest to me offered some labor and then volunteered some personal information about his recent experience. He was speaking of extremely difficult things - loss of a loved one, violence, prison - but he spoke with an uplifted chin and the unmistakable air of a person with hope and a plan. As he talked and I listened, the cold wind blowing into my face began to make my eyes water. I felt one tear then another trickle from the corners of my eyes, and, embarrassed, I tried to wipe them away without his notice - but after a few more moments his eyes began to water too. Amazement bloomed in my chest as more tears flowed down my face and then two spilled from his eyes. Neither of us acknowledged it with our words, but as he talked, we stared into each other's faces and cried with stillness and silence. Then my tears were no longer from cold but with a concentration of raw empathy, the kind of thing we don't have to force or be taught. We see each other's real-ness and acknowledge it in each other. Nobody said, "I'm sorry." Nobody said, "I feel pain." But there was pain, and there was sorrow, and there was the knowing that all of that was going to be fine. We smiled at each other with the saline drying on our cheeks. I said goodbye and walked to my car, new.