Just under the surface

Sorrow is like a precious treasure, shown only to friends.

-African Proverb

I came across the above quote within the last few weeks; I am sure it was on someone's blog, but I have forgotten whose by now.

This proverb makes sense to me now. I am not sure I would have been receptive to it a few months back. Now, it has become a mantra, a way to define myself. It fits how I am living my life. My sorrow is held tenderly within my hands, like a wee bird, or in my pocket like a smuggled baby turtle. My grief is protected instead of exposed and vulnerable.

I don't need to show my sad face. I am not facing uncontrollable sobs anymore. I can go out to lunch with friends without feeling (and possibly looking) like a deer in headlights.

At my part time job, I don't need everyone to know that my baby died. That a part of me is dead.

I posted this phrase on my FaceBook profile. No one has asked me what it means, why it's there. And that is just fine. My friends, the true ones, the abiding ones, the cool ones, get it.

But it means something to me:

My sorrow is mine.

My friends are those that take the time to ask how I am doing, looking behind the smile and the laughs, peeling back the sarcasm, asking to share in my sorrow, if only briefly.

And perhaps that is my new definition of friendship.