I made these little bottles thinking about a friend in Maine who had lost her husband. I made them before my father had his heart attack. Before I knew how tears might hit the floor. They were made with love and respect for the place grief holds in our lives. I have heard of various traditions in the dry climates of Africa and Greece where water was prized above all else. Giving up the water of your own body was deeply prized. Crying tears for the dead was considered a sacrifice. People caught tears in tiny pitchers or "tear jars" and the contents became holy water."For years the tears fell
without touching the ground.
On this night they hit the floor."
― Mary Ruefle