Stop crying your heart out

In my adult life I can only remember crying four times.
The first time was when my Daughter was born. I'm sure Pud and Rossi will agree has they have just become Fathers, that being present at your childs birth is one of the most nerve wrecking moments a Man can endure. The feeling of helplessness hits you like a sledgehammer. You're in a room with Doctors and Midwifes running around, your Missus is in obvious discomfort/pain and all you can do is hold her hand and whisper "push" in her ear. Nothing seems to go right and you're just stood there like the preverbial spare prick at the wedding, praying for everything to be allright. Finally, you're handed a baby and the feeling of relief that everything has gone to plan and your Daughter/Son is alive and kicking sweeps over you like a tidal wave. One of my best mates girlfriend was the midwife and the pair of us just stood there crying like a pair of babies ourselves.
The second was a year later in my Grans funeral. My Dad died two months before I was born and both his parents were already dead. My Grandad on my Mothers side was dead as well so my Gran gave up work to bring me up and let my Mum carve out her career. I never fully understood the sacrafices my Gran had made until the day of her funeral. I was stood in the crematorium and it was only then that I realised that all the mourners were mine or my Mothers friends. There were a few neighbours who knew my Gran but no one that I would have said was a friend of hers. I guess, after I was old enough to look after myself, my Gran was too old to return to work or couldn't be bothered. She didn't drink or do bingo or anything like that and I suppose she just outlived people she knew or grew apart from work colleagues and the like. I shed a few tears then and still think about her every day.
The third time was probably the saddest day I care to remember and one I hope I never have to experience again. My Daughter went to creche when she was six months old and continued in the same group of nurserys until she was old enough to go to school. There was a girl there called Megan who started at the same time and when she was old enough, used to come to our house for tea twice a week. They both went to the same school and were in the same class. The pair of them were inseperable. One day my Missus is picking my Daughter up and her teacher asks how Megan is. My Missus says she knows nothing and the teacher tells her she's in hospital because she had fallen out of bed. We both thought she had maybe broken her arm or something so my Wife goes to the hospital where she bumps into Megans parents, crying their hearts out. It transpires she had an inoperable brain tumour. For the next year I watched this lovely little girl deteriorate until she couldn't go to school any longer. About 18 months after the initial diagnosis she died in her sleep. Her funeral was the worst experience of my life. There wasn't one person there not crying and I include the Priest in that. I still see her parents now and feel guilty about not being able to do anything for them. I hope anyone who reads this doesn't have to go through what they did.
The last time I cried was an hour ago when I cuddled my cat in my arms as the vet put her down. I've had cats for as long as I can remember but strangely can never remember any of them dying. Some I was probably too young to register what had happened. Others, I had moved away and had visited my Mum and there was no cat there. Some just never came home one day and that was that. Today was different. I have had Rascal for twelve years and she was a beautiful cat. Her kidneys packed in for no apparent reason and there was nothing the vets could do. I've got another cat, her sister and I guess I'll cry like a baby when she passes away as well.
Depressing post but that's how I feel at the moment.
Later.