Love Letters to my life #15: A new kind of happiness

Turquoise Turnings

by Joyce Wycoff

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day, the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my incredible life.)

Three days ago my older granddaughter turned 18. It’s easy to turn the clock back to when her mom was in and out of the hospital with false labor pains as we wondered if Ava would share her birthday with the most horrendous act of terrorism the US had experienced. She waited, though, and finally arrived on the 14th. Having never had children of my own, I felt blessed to be there as part of her waiting family.

The family has been through its share of problems; however, when given a choice of dispersing or being a family, we kept choosing to be family. And now we’re all here in Reno, with one child “of age” and another one four years behind, and all of the adults on solid footing. We’re not a Hallmark-card family, but we’re together, supporting and loving each other.

Ava is in the carriage

Recently, on a morning walk, I realized I am happier than I’ve ever been. However, it’s a different kind of happiness, a contented peacefulness that buzzes at a cellular level. My dearest aunt often said that certain things strengthened her bones. What I feel right now strengthens my bones, comforts me like a Patagonia fleece (a plug for Annie’s employer), makes me happy to be who I am, where I am.

Yes, there have been times that were more ecstatic: falling in love with Richard, becoming a stepmother to two amazing young girls, being awestruck by Santa Barbara, the opening day of the first InnovationNetwork Convergence, making my first piece of art that bowled me over. Those things took my breath away and I am grateful for the experiences.

And, double yes, there are sucky parts of today’s world; things that make me want to leap onto the back of a silver stallion and ride through the world with a cleansing sword, or carry the brightest lantern into the dark corners. There are moments when hate writhes on the ground like breeding snakes and I want to pull up a hoodie and huddle somewhere with my kindle.

River birch

 Then I go for a walk with a cool breeze blowing in my face and the sun warming my back. I walk through giant trees dappling sunlight on the green grass. I see women and men walking their dogs, gaggles of young girls giggling, an old woman wearing a huge sun hat weeding the Rotary garden along the river walk, and I am just glad to be alive.

The ending words of Anne of Green Gables are, “God’s in his Heaven. All’s right with the world.” I know that all’s not right with our world, however, in my small piece of it, things are just fine. I also know that, this, too shall pass. So, I savor this precious moment.