Not crying your sorrows.

I go to the gym three times a week before work—usually Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays: upper body, core, and lower body, respectively.

Today was leg day. Lower body. The most important day, since those are the biggest muscles in our bodies. Also the one I care about the most, because I don’t want my butt to reveal my age.

I woke up at 6:50, changed my pajamas for a black onesie and sneakers, brushed my teeth, tied my hair, and left the apartment at 7 a.m. to walk to the gym and join the class starting at 7:10. I had signed up the night before, since this is the only way I ever go to the gym—if a previous version of myself signs me up in advance, so the morning version of myself isn’t making decisions from under the blankets.

I made it on time and did the first round of exercises, which involved holding a weighted disk in front of my chest while squatting up and down. No problem.

The next exercise was holding two very long, heavy ropes, lifting them to make waves five times, and then switching to a push-up in a plank position. This is not a leg exercise, I thought, when out of nowhere the music hit me. It was a fast version of “Stay with Me” by Sam Smith, and it immediately brought the thought of my mom, who passed away exactly four months ago today.

Tears filled my eyes as I held the ropes and counted to five before switching to the push-up. I managed to keep them at bay and somehow let them sink back into my eyes—until the chorus hit again:

won’t you… staaaaay with meeeee…’cause you’re aaaaall I need…

Tears again. This time my whole face transformed: my mouth started shaking, leaving a bitter taste, lips flipping into an upside-down smile, the lower lip pushing up.

Once again, I managed to hold the tears, finish my round of ropes and push-ups, and move on to the next exercise without having to wipe my eyes with gym fingers. I already knew I had to give it time. I have to schedule time in my calendar to cry her absence, just as deliberately as I schedule time to go to the gym.

Something I’m learning from grief is that tears have a life of their own. They are demanding, and they will come when you least expect them if you don’t give them time and attention.