Men Do Cry

In a small town nestled between rolling hills, Benson lived out his days quietly, carrying the weight of the world on his aging shoulders. At seventy-three, he had weathered countless storms, both literal and metaphorical. But through it all, he remained stoic, a pillar of strength for his family.

Benson's days began before the sun rose, his gnarled hands tending to the land that had been in his family for generations. Each furrow plowed, each seed sown, carried with it the memories of loved ones lost and dreams deferred. But he pressed on, fueled by a sense of duty and an unwavering resolve to provide for those he held dear.

His wife, Eleanor, had passed away five years prior, leaving a void in Benson's heart that no amount of time could ever fill. Her absence echoed through the halls of their modest farmhouse, a constant reminder of the love they had shared and the dreams they had dared to dream together.

Despite his grief, Benson soldiered on, finding solace in the routine of his daily chores and the warmth of his children's laughter when they visited on weekends. He buried his pain beneath a facade of stoicism, convinced that as a man, he must bear his burdens alone.

But the weight of his sorrows grew heavier with each passing day, threatening to crush him beneath their crushing weight. He felt suffocated by the expectations placed upon him, the unspoken belief that men do not cry, men are supposed to be conquering warriors, that they must be strong at all costs. Men are allowed to cry because they also have emotions and feelings and no one should make fun of that.

It wasn't until a particularly harsh winter storm descended upon the town, so devastating and bringing with it howling winds and bone-chilling cold, that Benson's facade finally began to crack. As he struggled to keep the farmhouse warm and the livestock fed, a sense of helplessness washed over him, threatening to drown him in despair. All hope seemed lost and shattered that everywhere was complete darkness.

In the depths of the stormy night, with the wind rattling the windows and the fire burning low, Benson found himself alone with his thoughts, his stoicism crumbling like the walls of Jericho. Tears streamed down his weathered cheeks as he allowed himself to feel the full weight of his grief, mourning not only for Eleanor but for the dreams they had shared and the life they had built together. Everything seemed as if it was fading away from him and he didn’t know what to do next, cause he thought he can get through this as well without having to telling anyone to help him. But at this point he never had the strength.

In that moment of vulnerability, Benson realized that he was only human, sometimes men feel weak and really need a shoulder to lean on sometimes, that he was allowed to feel pain and sorrow, and that he did not have to face the war of life alone. He reached out to his children, opening up to them in a way he never had before, and was met with love and understanding in return.

From that day forward, Benson carried his burdens not as a solitary soldier but as part of a united front, supported by the love and compassion of his family. And though the road ahead would be filled with hardships and heartaches, he took comfort in the knowledge that he no longer had to face them alone. For he had learned that men do cry, and that there is strength in vulnerability, in reaching out for help when it is needed most.