Happiness Amid Misery
The walls were a cold, blank white. The room was quiet except for the whir and occasional beep of a machine. The lights were dimmed for the comfort of the little inhabitants of this place. He was encased in a plastic box with a lid like a bread box. Wires ran from all the essential parts of his body. A tiny hand clenched my finger, making me feel as if I were a giantess. As I lifted him from his clear case that eerily resembled Snow White’s coffin, I felt a jolt pierce through my heart. How was it that such a small thing could elicit such a strong emotion from me? My firstborn son snuggled into the crook of my arm and happiness was mine.
Across the room a loud burst of beeping machines heralded an emergency. Nurses bolted into the room, followed by frantic doctors. A tiny life was slipping away. Time seemed to slow down. My heart thudded in my chest in agony for the little child and its parents. The alarms seemed to speed up and the doctor’s movements quickened. Suddenly, there was silence. The air was thick with grief. Here in the NICU misery and happiness were companions and distanced by mere feet.
Eric Wiener says, “’Misery serves a purpose’ says psychologist David Myers. He’s right. Misery alerts us to dangers. It’s what spurs our imagination” (323). Statements like that infuriate me. Specifically, the last part really gets my goat. Misery serves many purposes, the least important being my imagination. Most of those who have experienced true misery rightfully avoid it like the plague. Some like Eric Wiener, witness misery and try to minimize it by claiming it as a sort of Muse. I do agree that it does alert us to dangers, but more importantly it can help us recognize and appreciate happiness. Have you ever noticed that those who have experienced tragedy and misery and ‘escaped’ are some of the wisest and dare I say happy people you’ve ever heard of or met? Mother Teresa, for one, comes to mind. Do I think you have to have misery to experience happiness? No. I do, however, feel that to really appreciate happiness and embrace it, you need to be able to have something to contrast it against. I’m not saying that you should go and seek out opportunities to experience misery; life will provide its own without any help.
My trip to the NICU that day taught me many things about life, especially relating to misery and happiness. Firstly, that happiness and misery in life can be a literal heartbeat away. I may have forgotten that moment of happiness with my son, if it had not been etched into my memory because of the tragic event of that day. Even though I did not know that infant or its family, I was able to witness the misery and then truly be grateful and happy for the moment I did have with my son. Secondly, I learned that a tiny, helpless newborn can instantly change your views on the world, but more importantly that all life is precious, no matter how short. In turn, small moments of happiness, no matter how short are precious and should be acknowledged as such. For me, tallying up all the tiny moments of happiness in a day does wonders for my overall happiness and contentment with my life. I will always be grateful to the unnamed newborn that lost its life that day. That little baby taught me that each microsecond matters. So for me, that life, though cut short, helped me unlock the keys to happiness in my own life.
Today I am faced with the mortality of my firstborn son, once again. He is now ten years old and has recently begun experiencing debilitating abdominal pain and has been rapidly losing weight. The most likely culprit seems to be something that could eventually kill him if left unchecked. Luckily, we have access to a great doctor and medical facility in Portland. Unfortunately, at this time, we do not have a definitive diagnosis. We will soon face another blank white room and hopefully discover what if anything we can do to cure him. Misery will be there again caused by the waiting and the agony over the unknown and things I cannot change. Surprisingly, at times like these, all the tiny moments of joy come flooding back: a hug here, a little kiss there. Like a mini movie in my head I think about the times he met each of his siblings, the first time he scored a goal in a soccer game, each of his birthdays, the first time he learned to ride a bike and his unforgettable performance as Tom Turkey in second grade. All these moments, though lasting just a short time individually, have already added up to a lifetime of joy. So, I know that happiness will be there too, because right now, I have a son who knows he is loved and that makes all the difference.
Works Cited
Weiner, Eric (2009). The Geography of Bliss. New York: Twelve.
Update: J1 still has an unofficial diagnosis of IBD but is on medication. He does great as long as he remembers his medicine. Those huge blue pills are a constant reminder of his and my own mortality. I hope to use this reminder to be courageous in how I live my life. I hope you can find the courage to be happy in yours.
