I found this along the Freedom Trail in Boston the other day:
“A childhood friend of mine once found a raspberry in the camp and carried it in her pocket all day to present to me that night on a leaf.”
“Imagine a world in which your entire possession is one raspberry, and you give it to your friend.”
I had to pick my heart up from off the ground after I read the quote mid stride.
It was referencing one of Gerda Weissman Kein’s experiences as a Holocaust survivor, and while I know the struggles I’ve had in my life in no way come close to Gerda’s, I felt some kind of odd connection.
I’ve been lucky enough to have people like that in my life. People who seem to drop everything, give anything and run full speed when I don’t even ask.
People who know you need them before you know you need them.
People who make this world better just by being aware of others.
That’s something worth writing home about.
I’ve been feeling this for two weeks now, and I think I’ve only just gotten my emotions in order.
I know. Cap, crying? Who would have thought?
The thing about my tears though, the thing I don’t think many people get, is that I really only cry when I’m so happy I don’t know what else to do. I don’t cry when I’m sad, or when I’m stressed, or when I’m freaking out about an essay that instantly vanished from existence 5 minutes before it’s due.
I cry when my heart is so full it somehow explodes via my tear ducts.
The more life I go through the more I appreciate relationships.
Adulthood is funny that way.
Friendship changes from a blasé acquaintance to something of much more substance. It becomes this sort of lifeline. The second thud in your weird little heart beat. And if you’re lucky enough, it follows you and supports you no matter what crazy road you choose.
So, thanks for being there. Thanks for showing me what family and friends and love and a crap ton of happy tears look like.