When my mom was cogent, she used to enjoy telling me,
“The Dalai Lama says that the purpose of life is to be happy.”
She would go on to say that if people around you are suffering, you can’t really be happy, so in a way this is a directive to help relieve suffering both inside and out.
One of her caregivers, who took great, loving care of her before I took over, was so impressed by this story that, after my mom passed away, she gave me this portrait of the Dalai Lama smiling so I could remember my mom’s words. I keep him in my office to remind me: The purpose of life is to be happy.
I love coincidences, or as my mom's mom called them, her beloved synchronicities. I also, as my grandmother once said, am content to be in this "cloud of unknowningness" about what these synchronicities mean if anything. I chose to let them comfort me because I need all the comforting I can get, thanks.
Here's a synchronicity to share. I hope it gives you happy awe.
First, some context.
In caregiving for my mom, I learned to stop caring about what she remembered or thought. I learned to cling to one goal: that she was happy. That was all that mattered. A simple equation. When I would go into her memory care unit, I would so often ask “Are you happy?” that I thought, she must be so tired of hearing me ask her that.
Incredibly, she was, even as she lost her identity. I was lucky. I saw enough examples of unhappy memory care residents to be thankful for my mom's default mode. Barely able to speak, she became like a radiant, happy baby and it was a joy to just sit with her. I tried to wheel her outside the nursing home as often as I could, and she would say LOOK LOOK! and her face would light up as she saw birds or pretty much anything. And then she’d burst into joyous song, randomly. Yes, she had lost her mind, but she was the happiest person I have ever known.
Now that she has passed, perhaps it is not surprising that I am still reflexively asking her the same question I have asked for past seven years while I was taking care of her. “Are you happy?”
A few nights ago, I walked outside my house and looked up at the stars. I had the childish impulse to wish on a star. What would I wish if I could only wish one thing? I wondered. I knew I only wanted the answer to the same question I have been asking for years, now.
Mom, are you happy?
Thinking sourly, well that’s a pretty damn stupid question I won’t ever get an answer to, as I went back into my house.
The next day, I received in the mail a package from the art therapist I hired to do therapy with my mom when my mom first started showing signs of dementia. It was pretty emotional to open up this package of my mom's original artwork. I had already many photos of this collection sent to me from this therapist, but I didn’t have the whole collection or the originals.
The first artwork I opened up to was one I had never seen before. It’s obviously my mom’s self-portrait. Under the painting of herself, she had written,
I AM HAPPY
Seeing that, I just burst into tears and my husband held me.
I have my own favorite quote about happiness. I like that it was said by a scientist.
“Happiness is a thing to be practiced, like the violin.” -John Lubbock
Comments