Finding Joy

Today my day started in the usual way. I went to the kitchen to make my coffee, then opened my laptop to see what new assignments I had waiting for me. First up this morning, English. I was assigned to read an essay titled “Unmothered” by Ruth Margalit. In this essay the author talks about how she used various works of  literature to put words to the grief she felt from her mother’s death. She writes “…grief keeps odd hours. The most painful moment at the most abstract moment”. Ha! I thought, that was kind of like going to do your homework and being confronted with an essay on grief. The most abstract moment, indeed! Taking a deep breath, I continue to read. Margalit describes herself  as being “Unmothered”, not motherless. She explains that since she no longer had a mother she could no longer  participate in things like Mother’s Day, but that it was different than being motherless. She felt that her mother was still very much with her in everything that she did and therefore she was actually not without her.  As I read the essay I considered the assignment which was to asses our own state of  Motheredness or Fatheredness. I thought about the boys and how they lost their dad and yet he is still very much a part of our lives. On Father’s Day we find ourselves in the  awkward reality that none of us have a father who is still alive, and much like the author can’t quite participate in the usual events of the day.  So, we do the only thing that makes sense to us, we honor their dad by making his favorite food, tacos, and we dedicate the dinner to his memory.

I finish up the reading, write my discussion post, then decide that I need to take a break.  Taking my favorite escape route, I log onto Facebook and moments later I’m scrolling through memories of what happened on this day for the past 9 years.  The memories that popped up seemed somewhat profound and timely after what I had just read and the feelings I was trying to escape from.

The first picture that pops up is a picture of Scott from 8 years ago today. We had gone out to the movies that night. This might seem insignificant except for the fact that just one week before this picture was taken, Scott had been diagnosed with ALS. In the face of what was to come, the date was not only our attempt to stay positive but also a way distract ourselves from this terrible situation, a way to hold onto what we still had together. 

The next picture I scroll past was taken one year later on this day in 2012. It’s a picture of Scott and the boys out for a walk. The boys were walking alongside of him while he was now riding along in his power chair. 

There was a second picture of him coming down the hill at the school where we went to let the kids play. It was funny to remember this walk because as long as I could remember I always had trouble keeping up with Scott when we would go for walks because he was so much taller than me and his stride was much longer. I would often get frustrated at how he wouldn’t slow down so that we could talk while we walked, but instead would walk ahead leaving me behind. We set out of the house on that day for the first time with his new power chair. He was really excited to be able to get out of the house into the fresh air and go out into the neighborhood. It might seem that given his situation he would have wanted to stay beside me and talk while we walked along, but this wasn’t the case. True to form, the moment he was out of the driveway he was off, going just fast enough so that I couldn’t keep up. I remember laughing out loud at this. He wasn’t going to let being in a wheelchair keep him from going about business as usual. The kids ran ahead to join him and I let him be. He was free. 

The last picture was taken 2 years later on the same day in 2014. This one  is of the boys running to the ocean ahead of me. After having a particularly rough week, I packed up the car and the kids and headed to the beach, where I hoped we could reconnect with nature, ourselves and each other.  I remember the long car ride filled with fussing, fighting and grumbling about being in the car for so long. It was a rough drive, but the moment the car door opened and their feet hit the ground, happiness took over and they ran as fast as they could towards the water.  I remember the feeling of relief wash over me as I watched them run ahead, filled with joy and laughter.

It’s not lost on me that by the time the last picture was taken, Scott had been gone for nearly 2 years. “Unfathered”, I thought. The picture staring at me like an exclamation point!  My heart sank as the realization set in. Then I take another look through the pictures, and I see that in each one we were able to find peace and even joy on some of the darkest of days.  Then I realize that all of the synchronicities of the morning were just a way for Scott to send  a sweet hello, and a gentle reminder to find joy in every moment.