Being. Knowing. Joy

Being. Knowing. Joy.

Once years ago I overheard Linda tell Kristen, “Papa can’t be happy unless you’re around.” 

It summed my life in a sentence. From 1958 when my first child was born until this very moment.

Someone said Hinduism holds that what we want is being, knowing, and joy. That is to say, to be alive; to satisfy our curiosities by opening eyes and ears and hearts and minds and books and locks and doors; and to have bliss, happiness. And that we want these things infinitely. Relating this to my life is helping me understand in part my distress that my children have all grown up and fled. The coop. Even the youngest.

There she goes.

To understand, and to cope.

Which is better for someone who was never able to be happy unless there was a child around to dote on? Better to live into the flight of the last, youngest and final, or not to? October 2010 I thought that question was being solved for me! But as it turns out, not yet.

Going off to university at age 18, I knew full well that I would never be back, certainly not in the old way. Knew it, relished it, celebrated it, lived it. But if I knew it full well, the old folks did not know it at all obviously, because whenever I returned home, it was to them the child returning -- from -- school -- or -- whatever. But the child was gone and never returned. Which made for strain until my leaving was permanent, never to return home again, only coming to visit from time to time.

The first day of kindergarten each year, HNES has a crying room -- for mothers. Dads and papas have to go off alone somewhere. Each experience strengthens for future experiences. In my life, I have lived this many times, once myself and several times each child. It gets harder, not easier; but having lived it so many times helps me know that this too shall pass, and each time is survivable. For going on fifty-four years, bliss was having a child of my very own around to dote on, and each time the child fled there was another child of my very own still at home. But this time there is not another child. So, this is not just another time, but new, different; and the other times are not as helpful as I had expected. Life becomes, then -- what, either despairing and grieving, or philosophical and introspective? And somewhat sappy. Is it better to keep it private or let it be public like some whiner? 

Public or private is a nonevent: the question was answered the October 2010 evening I decided to do CaringBridge instead of a private journal of dying. So, whoever reads it is their own problem, not mine. Don’t like it? Don’t want to hear about it? Don’t read it. It won't be all that clear anyway, even to me.

If what I want is being, knowing, and joy -- being I still have. And with all the knowledge, in books and in/on the world wide web, and outside, looking up, and around, and down, in, with, and under, curiosity is still being satisfied. But - and - so, how to reclaim joy when there isn’t a child around to adore? 

Maybe, be a HunterGatherer 

Not of food but of another kind of sustenance: joy. Joy bit by bit. A child arriving safely for a short visit. A church child hugging me on the way out on Sunday morning! A happy and enthusiastic Tuesday morning Bible study seminar. An enthusiastic Sunday school class. Because the etymology of enthusiasm is God Filled, God Inspired. Lunch or dinner out with Linda. Waking and rising at three-thirty in the morning to think, read, sip coffee, maybe write. Evening at home with Linda. A book. A child (“child” to me, not to the child) coming for supper one evening a week. Two mullet. A pint (gallon?) of oysters. A walk around Cove School when no one is there except me and the ghosts of past, present, and yet to come. A visit to Apalachicola ... 

... even though George and Wesley aren’t there anymore. 

A bag of figs. Two persimmons ripening. Grace Church. Visit St. Thomas, even without Gordon. Tallahassee. Winston-Salem. Highlands. Newport? Waldoboro? 

Evangelische Pauluskirche, Südstrasse, Mann?

Being. Knowing. For joy, infinitely, one must be a HunterGatherer, put joy together piece by piece. In the heart and mind; which is where joy is anyway, eh? 

Being and knowing are joy.

And every day is a beautiful day.

TW+