When I was eleven,
I cried when my dog
was hit by a car
and he died in my arms.
My parents told me,
This isn’t the way 
to deal with things.
So, it took me
thirty-one years until
I cried again,
standing beside my mother’s
lifeless body in that hospital bed.
I suddenly realized
that tears weren’t a curse
or some weak flaw,
but they were a gift,
a gift I received
for loving.