At 46

Earlier this week I celebrated another turn around the sun with tea in bed made by my ten year old son, hand crafted cards decorated with many, many kisses, a fabulously extravagant gift of perfumed goods, glorious books, flowers, cake and calls and kind messages of love from family and friends.

A dear friend and mentor who has known me since I was 21 sent me a lovely note wishing me a “spectacular year of great happiness.” It was that generous message in particular that had me contemplating the nature of happiness and how sadness and happiness interact and maybe balance each other out – mellowing the “spectacular” and at the same time softening melancholy.

My happiness these days is tempered by a deep sadness at the decline of my sweet mother – last year we danced together a little, holding hands in her front room to a Tom Jones tune. I’m so glad we did. She’s not going to be dancing again as far as I can tell after making a poor recovery from a hip replacement operation and sliding ever more deeply into the grip of Alzheimers. She’s chair and bed bound now and her world seems to be getting smaller by the minute.

Then there is my dear old Dad – he’s a slightly lost but brave soul missing the love of his life who has been his partner for more than 55 years. “I miss my girl,” he tells me and my heart breaks a little more. It’s a strange kind of limbo. She’s not gone but she has gone, if you know what I mean. Gone into a kind of holding pattern that doesn’t allow for the relief of grieving. I miss her too.

Against this background a new love begins and brings me joy. My beautiful niece has found the love of her life and will marry later this year – the very same niece I recall cradling in my arms when she was an infant what feels like just a few years ago. The same sweet niece who was the flower girl at my wedding has chosen my own dear little daughter to be hers.

As always the arrival of children into my life brings great excitement as the news that two very eagerly awaited babies have joyously been welcomed into the world and their respective mothers, dear friends of mine, are well and happy. There’s a little piquancy when I look at my own beautiful children and think that they too were babies only moments ago. That feeling is countered by my very real and abiding pleasure in the wonderful people my children are growing into. They are lovely.

And for every acknowledgement that my youth is slipping away comes the happiness that my minor triumphs bring. I am possibly fitter and stronger than I have ever been, I can lift heavy weights and enjoy it very much. My sweetheart occasionally feels compelled to give my shoulder a hearty, blokey slap every now and then, and make remarks like “I like that you’re not flimsy.” I’m taking that as a compliment! The fact that after nearly 21 years of marriage we still find pleasure in each other’s company and in each other’s bodies is very sweet indeed.

At forty six I have plenty to be happy about.