During my sophomore year of high school, I went to live with my father in Charlotte NC.  My mother and father had divorced when I was very young and since that time I had spent little time with my father.  He and his second wife had moved to North Carolina shortly after I turned twelve, making frequent visits impossible due to the large distance between us ( I was living in Boston, MA with my Mom).
The relationship my fkther and I shared was awkward at best.  It seemed we never knew what to say to each other.  It was very clear to me from a young age that being in my presence made my father uneasy.  In fact the presence of any children seemed to make him uneasy.  There was never any resentment or anger between my father and I.  We just did not know how to communicate with each other.  We had no connection, no bond.
With such strained relationship, it is needless to say that I would never have chosen to leave Massachusetts and my Mom to live with my father ) However, my mother, who had been battling breast cancer for three years, developed lymphoma cancer.  Her already frail condition worsened and doctors did not expect things to improve.  When my Mom and Stepfather told me they had arranged for me to stay with my father in NC, I was heart broken.  They explained that my Mom had some tough stuff on her plate and her severe illness would not allow either of them to pay me the love and attention I needed.  My Mom needed to concentrate on beating the cancer, beating the odds.
I never cried when my parents divorced.  I never cried when my Mom was

diagnosed with Cancer.  I never cried over having to leave my Mom.  I spent the first few
months in North Carolina just adjusting.  Slowly I made friends and began to feel at
home.  My father and I were still struggling to make some sort of connection, but my step mom was a great help.  She went out of her way to make me feel at home, she even redecorated my room in my favorite color as a welcoming present We had some really great times.  I began to get involved in theatre just like I had been back in Boston.  I was so busy with school, my friends, and theater.  I was rarely sad I was having a blast but at the end of my sophomore year my Mom's father died.  I didn't cry.  I had only met him a handful of times and he suffered from Altzheimer's disease, so I never got to experience who he was.
My mother and stepfather flew out to Texas for the funeral.  They sent for me, but I didn't want to go.  I was in Oliiver at with a local theater group and couldn't bear to leave the run.  I was happy.  I argued with my sick mother over the phone.  My stepfather pleaded with me to come.  I refused to go.  I knew I was being selfish although I didn't understand why.  My father sat me down and told me I had to go.
When I landed in Texas I was miserable, but not because my grandfather had died.   I was miserable because I had to leave school, my friends, but mostly the show.  I was miserable also because I felt bad about myself I didn't know why I was being so self centered.  I knew this was a hard thing for my Mom and coupled with her illness she needed all the support she could get.

My grandmother asked me to lead the singing at the funeral service for my grandfather.  She always loved to hear me sing.  I halfheartedly agreed to sing, I was still moping and feeling sorry for myself.

As I stood on the altar leading the mourners in song I looked out among the pews.  I looked at my grandmother in her wheelchair, weakened by my grandfather's long illness- I thought about my Grandfather, a man I had never gotten the chance to know.  I looked at my Mom as she cried.  I watched as my stepfather tried to consol her.  I thought about my father halfway across the country in North Carolina and I began to cry.  In front of the entire church I wept.  Unable to sing I sobbed uncontrollably.  People in the pews below me picked up where I had left off singing and just cried.
Years of frustration, hurt and imbedded anger melted off my shoulders with each tear.  I'd like to say that everything got better after that,  leave you with the perfict ending.  However, there is no perfect ending.  My father and I still struggle to keep our relationship afloat.   My Mom did beat her cancer, although she has recently come out of remission, diagnosed again with breast cancer.  My grandmother has since died.  Life has continued to happen.  Life does that.   As soon as one problem is fixed another one arises.  Only now, the tragedies of life, both big and small, are easier to handle, easier to work throug.  And along with every tragedy comes something beautiful, some small miracle.  My mother's illness presented an opportunity for me to form a stronger relationship with my father.  My grandfather's death taught me how to cry.