Sometimes Joy Can Make It Worse

Louise Sullivan

Sometimes Joy Can Make It Worse

Louise Sullivan
winter-forest-84813_640Yesterday was one the good days, a wonderful day filled with all the things that life used to give me that made me happy.

Until the day this May that my 58-year-old husband was felled with a stroke and became a shadow of his former self. Then those fun days disappeared.

My wonderful day yesterday was filled by my daughter and grandson, Jack--a trip to forest with my pet Finnegan, where the the three of us frolicked in the snow and woods like so many times before, so many winters before. Only one person was missing. Grampa. The one who would run ahead and shake the trees and sprinkle snow on a delighted Jack, the one who would pretend the forest creatures were after us, the one who made it so fun.

And then there were three. We did the same things on our walk through the forest as when my husband was with us until Jack would say, "Oh, Grampa would get me really good with this tree." Or, "Remember when Grampa did so and so". So the joy of the moment was somewhat diminished, although it shouldn't have been because the memory of it is still there, nothing can take away that past. Who am I to say it may never happen again?

But by then, the magic will be gone for Jack because he will no longer be thrilled as small children are, the dog may not even still be with us when and if he is ever able to make that trek again.

So today I am left with the what ifs, the maybes, the hopelessness, of a time that may never happen again. Is this raw pessimism? Of course it is, because this is raw and fresh and hurtful and so, so unfair. Of course I want the joy, any joy I can get in this nightmare that I now call my life.

But I also realize that for me, today, the day after such joy, that it can make what I have lost seem just so much intense.