Happy Sad People

I don't know whether I am a happy sad person, or a sad happy person. I suppose it does not matter. It occurred to me this past month that I will never be happier than I was at sometime in the past. Of course I am happy, but any happiness forthcoming will always carry the knowledge that both our sons have died. We have a fantastic daughter and son-in-law, a wonderful daughter-in-law and four grandchildren, all of whom can be described with superlatives. But we don't have our two sons.

Maybe I'm feeling melancholy because next month will be two years since our older son died, and all our family members are slightly anxious about the anniversary. I could be melancholy because in less than two months will be the birthday of our younger son. Although he died almost 25 years ago, the memories are still bright and clear. He has been gone from life much longer than the length of his life.

Birth and death anniversaries take us back in time, and the memories are not only the lives that were lived, the include the time that surrounds the deaths. I remember 25 years ago, knowing with clarity that our son had died, even before he was identified in that damaged car. Whether that knowledge was the only conclusion that I could reach given the circumstances, or whether it was intuition, I cannot be certain. I just know that I knew.

On the other hand, I was shocked that our older son died. I watched him lying motionless as medical staff turned off all of the machines that had sustained his vitals while doctors tried for 3 days to save his life. The machines had finally all failed to sustain him, sending out alarms that response was not occurring.

I think I would prefer not having those memories that surrounded their deaths. The other memories, however, are wonderful. I remember the moment our older son was born, after 20 hrs. of labor, with a pointed head, red face, and screaming in anger. I remember when our younger son was born, after 20 minutes of labor, with a round little head, chubby cheeks and the prettiest pink complexion imaginable. He cried for about 30 seconds and then followed his first breath with a deep sigh.

They were alike, they were opposites. They were creative, but in totally different ways. The older would imagine his toy cars driving in unique ways or to incredible destinations. The younger would simply take off his shoes, put his hands in them and "drive" them around the room. Our youngest, our daughter, was the perfect median between her two brothers. Over the course of her young years, she was the playmate of the brother closest to her in age. As an adult, her older brother became her best friend, second only to her husband.

I'll never again have the experiences of having children, of watching them learn and interact.  I got to watch our younger son grow and blossom. I got to watch our older son grow, blossom, and establish a life of his own.  Our daughter remains, and she and her family have made us proud and happy and will continue to do so. Our daughter-in-law and her family are gifts to us that are better than we ever imagined.

Our happiness lies in what remains. It will always be tinged with what is gone. We have already touched the top of an arch, and we remain near the top because we were given so much love. To my amazement, it is almost enough.