[First published Nov 23, 2017]
Happiness is a choice, she said.
I had to give her some credence for knowing what she was talking about. In a hospice bed, saying goodbye to life, memories of sitting in the chair beside the bed more times than anyone should have to as she watched two husbands, two sons, and two parents drift away over the years, and yet she carried a soft glow that could not be other than convincing.
She smiled at me and opened her hand, inviting me to gently put my hand on hers and let our palms touch. Not too much pressure in the touch, because of the pain everywhere in her body.
I waited for her to catch her breath as her blue, blue eyes shut with the effort and her silver hair across the pillow seemed to dim. This is the same woman who told me the joke about dressing for the job you want, not the job you have. I wonder what she’s going to tell me this time.
Her eyes opened again, her hair shone, and she nodded slightly to let me know she was still here, still breathing, still hurting.
“And still happy, you know. Even now. I want to tell you about happiness,” she said. “There are only a few times when happiness has to give in to grief. When the grief comes, let it have its way at first. Then let happiness wash in. Don’t be afraid. That’s the most important thing.”
She paused for breath again and let me follow my embarrassed thoughts, thoughts which she too seemed to hear in my silence.
Oh, hi, said Melvin in the forest. How you feeling? Melvin is a therapy dog whose human partner was distracted with a dog in training. So Melvin decided to go with his intuition.
Happiness and I had a careful relationship. I didn’t ask too much of happiness in hopes that happiness wouldn’t feel hard-done-by, imposed upon, or overburdened. What if I allowed myself to fly around on happy wings, peacefully sipping a cup of tea and watching the river just when a bad thing was happening to my family and I didn’t know yet? What if happiness had a snit at my demands and made a fool of me, laughed a terrible, happy laugh when it fled from the bad news?
“Maybe grief will arrive, gobble you up, go away, come back, maybe it won’t. Don’t push happiness away. Not ever, not for any reason. It’s always waiting.”
What if I was delighting in the beautiful efficiency of pieces fitting together in my life, joyfully babbling about my job, my holiday, my dinner plans, right before some sombre-suited person walks up and tells me I’m laid off, the holiday company’s gone under along with my giant deposit, the restaurant is closed and the man I’m dating likes someone else better?
What ifs aren’t real. Each moment of happiness is.
“And don’t pretend, even to yourself, that disappointment and discontent are grief.”
Happiness. I’ll take a moment now to oil the happiness hinges, push some of the debris out of the way, and start to clear a path. I hear that happiness packs a mighty punch when it comes to clearing out dross, dregs, and detritus.