The kids, in their masks, are working on an assignment right now, and I, too, am doing the assignment.  The assignment is to write about what their happy looks like.  In this crazy world of school shootings and this unrelenting pandemic, can these 14-year-olds completely own their happy? 

My happy has me seeing my kids again and meeting my grandchildren.  Emma, Marissa’s daughter, is running towards me in her pink jumper and black Mary Janes, while Marissa, glowing and gorgeous and miraculously expecting her second child, hugs me with the intensity that conveys every missing second of the 8 years we’ve lost.  Rebecca, holding her daughter, Stephanie, immediately dons her comedic role and quips, “Oh, M-ray, it’s good to see that you still haven’t discovered sleeves.”  Her husband, Scott, quietly reaches for my hand and introduces himself.

With all of the power one can impart on another, my Zack approaches with an embrace that immediately and magically lifts every ounce of pain from my body.  It’s as if he has given me back the years that I’ve lost and brought me to nirvana.  I just hold him and stare at him simultaneously, completely immersed in the moment.  I don’t look back and I don’t look ahead; I just am.

They’ve come to visit me at my small house on the lake, which is where I do my meditation and my writing.  The years have gone by quickly, and they have taken their toll.  Never losing my faith, I’ve tried to live a clean and honest life.  Choosing kindness over anger, I’ve listened to so many tell me how strong I am and how they couldn’t have survived what I’ve lived through.  I wish I could tell those people that words like that don’t help me, but simply hearing, “I’m here for you” would be restorative.  Holding on to Cicero’s quote, “While there’s life, there’s hope,” I must reconcile the loss of my mother and how I wasn’t afforded the chance to say goodbye to her.  

A couple of people so dear to me were talking a few days ago, and they were commenting on my insecurities.  The conversation went something like this:

“If she lost what you’re not supposed to lose, what is supposed to be forever, how could she believe in anything?  How can she believe that the rest of us won’t go?”

“We’ll just have to keep proving to her that we’re not going anywhere.”

I’ve come so far, but my story’s ending is still unwritten.  My happy, in the form of my kids, my grandkids, my sons-in-law, and hopefully a future daughter-in-law, is, right now, a dream on paper for which I pray daily.  But, I will never discount, minimize, negate, or take for granted my happy with my “sisters,” my friends, my guy, my job, my health, and the grace with which I have carried myself throughout this cataclysmic ordeal. 

May you all find your happy.