I'm posting this now, but it actually Sunday before last. I had gone over to visit a friend of mine, a woman who is toward the upper end of middle aged and who was widowed by cancer several years ago. Since then she'd been struggling somewhat financially and with upkeep around the house without her husband there to help, and recently had to take on a second job.

Her birthday had passed a few days earlier so I brought her over some cookies I'd baked at her request, and was prepared to help her with some yardwork. Partway through our visit she received a notification through the mail of a creditor calling in a debt from several years ago that she thought had been resolved, piling on top of her stress.

She got up and started pacing nervously, lamenting the situation and saying that she hates her friends seeing her in a vulnerable state. Her voice had a quiver and her face was fraught with tension and nervousness. I went up to offer her a hug. She signed and began to weep softly. She leaned over into me, her hands up and covering her face, bent into my neck with my chin nuzzled into the top of her head.

Her crying was softer than I expected it to be, with mostly quiet sobs that were just a little bit more than whispers, but not quiet fully voiced either, punctuated by gentle, breathy gasps.

She whimpered "I'm sorry..." to me, still hiding her face.

"Why?" I said.

"Because I hate for people to see me cry."

"Aww, you're fine, hun. It's perfectly okay, I've got you," I reassured her.

She looked up at me for a moment. Her eyes were ringed with wetness all around but her tears didn't seem to be running down her cheeks. She was apparently a dry cryer, as some people tend to be.

I put my hand on the back of her head and pulled it back down into the crook of my neck, encouraging her this time to put her arms around me and return the hug. She held gently onto me and sobbed softly again, as I felt her belly bouncing against mine in a rolling, up and down motion with the rhythm of her sobs, sometimes harder or softer depending on whether or not she tried to stifle the sound of her crying. It was something I'd noticed numerous times when comforting a woman, that often the softer and quieter she tries to sob, the sharper and more forceful the contractions of her belly muscles become, as if her body is trying to force out her sobbing despite her.

I could feel no wetness against my upper chest from her tears, but I knew her face around her eyes would be glistening again when she pulled away. She didn't cry for a long time, but for someone who tends to keep her emotions inside it was an noteworthy expression of sorrow. I told her afterwards not to feel embarrassed and that I was glad it happened when I was there so I could comfort her. She thanked me for the reassurance and the cookies before I left.