Don’t Apologize For Crying

Why do we apologize when we cry in front of someone?

Why do mourners apologize for crying at the funeral of their loved one?

Why have we created a culture that has somehow made tears an affront, something for which we are supposed to apologize? Why doesnt’t that sad reality make us cry? It should….

When gathering with the family in preparation for the funeral service I tend to discourage them from delivering the eulogy for their loved one.

Why?

Because of what invariably happens come the time of delivery.

The bereaved take the podium.

They take a few moments to gather themselves together.

They dry their eyes, blow their nose and choke back the tears as they are clearly holding on for dear life so they won’t fall apart.

And then they say it, they always say it, I wish they wouldn’t say it. They say two words I despise when said in this context:

“I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry they say – for crying up there in front of “an audience.”

I’m sorry they plead – for stumbling over the words, for long, pregnant pauses with quivering lips and snot streaming down their face.

I’m sorry they declare – for breaking down, falling apart and not “rising up” for the occasion to get the job done.

“I can get through this.”

“I am strong and will do this.”

And they always suck it up, always make it through and always think that they somehow accomplished what was supposed to be accomplished having pleased the crowd, the family and dear old mom or dad.

However, the only thing I’m sorry about in these moments is that our society has turned funerals into a performance.

I’m sorry that somehow it has become a test of our strength to not cry and demonstration of our oratory skills.

I’m sorry that we somehow deem the good eulogies as the light and funny, happy and polished messages.

I’m sorry that children feel pressured into keeping up with the Jones’s, after all the Jones kids spoke at their parent’s funerals, what will that say about me or my dad if I don’t speak at his?

I’m sorry that this one, precious moment of sitting not standing, weeping not holding it together, listening in silence not speaking eloquently, is lost forever for them.

And I’m sorry that they feel that those tears are a sign of weakness, something to be wiped away, hidden or apologized for. Polished words, witty anecdotes, humorous phrases, well timed, choreographed and delivered public speeches about dear old dad – that is what I’m most sorry about.

It’s the tears, not the words, which are the greatest tribute of all.

It’s the crying, not the speaking, which testifies to how much your mom or dad, husband, wife, sister, brother or friend meant.

Speaking at a loved one’s funeral is not necessary, often counter-productive and certainly no great tribute if you make it through the other side without having crumbled or cried leaving the audience in tears but you valiantly maintained your dry eyes.

Don’t feel compelled to speak at the funeral.

If you do, don’t worry about how perfect or polished or well presented in all comes out. But above all else – never, never, ever, ever apologize for crying –

not at a movie

not at a wedding

not watching a Hallmark commercial (oh, you know you have)

and certainly not at your loved one’s funeral.

It is us – your society, your community, your friends and your family that should apologize to you for making you have to speak at your loved one’s funeral; that you have to deliver it with dry eyes and masterful oratory skills; and that you feel compelled to apologize for those beautiful, profound and holy tears. Wiping them away is the only thing you should be sorry about.

I’m Sorry

Rabbi B