American Idol often makes me cry. Sometimes it’s the contestants’ stories; sometimes it’s when someone sings a particularly moving song; sometimes it’s when someone leaves the show and they (and we) watch the reflection montage of their time on Idol while crying; sometimes it’s Kara DioGuardi crying that makes me cry.
Since I’m apparently all about the confession, I will confess that I cry very easily, so there really is nothing extraordinary about shedding tears over American Idol. Except that lately the tears have been a bit stronger and pouring forth even more readily. No surprise, most would say. But they give me pause. They have come with an intensity, a gurgling, gasping intensity in my chest. It’s not often, not constant, but when it happens I have to deal. What am I crying over, for, about? Not for the Idol contestants.
We’ve all been there: a sad moment in a movie, tv show, or book triggers our memories and emotions, whether or not we identify with others’ sadness or joy.
I used to watch Idol with the ex. And we actually cried together over the contestants’ stories; we would usually cry at the same time, about the same thing.
I’m not crying now because I miss crying with him. But I am crying tears of loss. People will tell you that “divorce is up there with death; it IS death, death of a marriage,” blah blah. The phrase had no punch for me, because I have dealt with the death of dear loved ones, including best friends who died at very young ages, and handling the loss of their presence in my life is a grief altogether different from the chaotic dissolution of my marriage and expulsion of my supposed lifetime partner. But as hard as I want to fight any feelings of tenderness about my marriage or my ex, I have to acknowledge that I shared a life with him, an intimacy and togetherness I’ve had with no other human being and that cannot be replicated if only because what we had was unique to us. I do not miss him. But through these tears I’ve reluctantly had to admit that I do, at times, miss the good of what we had and what we shared; and I have to admit that it is gone. And “gone” is a concept that just sometimes makes the well of tears bubble.
