More Than Enough Happiness

I wake with puffy eyes - crying in the night.

 And puffy ankles - too much toast and butter.

More silent crying while I do yoga poses on soft folded up Indian throw, listening  to Matt Kahn's "I love you" mantras.

The tears come all by themselves while lovely family constellation councellor gently leads me in a guided visualisation. At the end of it my Angel and I take my terrified little girl in golden arms and soothe her till she feels safe, unburdened and trusting..... and ready to go out to play.

 Before I leave I receive sweet gifts  -  tiny mince pies, hand crafted chocolates, bonbons.....and big warm hugs from an unexpected chance meeting of two friends.

At home I fill the cavities of pitted Mejoul dates with spoonfuls of almond butter, lay a knobbly roasted walnut on top and swirl them in melted dark chocolate, leave them in the fridge. Ready to pack into little Christmas boxes for presents.

 A  friend, who is an OT, rings and offers to come round tomorrow with a Nork,  which is a cross between a knife and fork to help Robin cut up his food. I'm doing it for him now. He suggests I get the  NHS Re-ablement team to come and assess Robin. Fortunately I asked our GP to do that last week.  Nothing so far.

I also ring Social Care and leave a message about re-assessing Robin's needs.  No reply so far.

It feels like a new minefield I'm entering now - searching for help for a wobbly body not just a wobbly mind.

I repair my mascara streaked face and head off for lovely tea and sympathy with two friends.

Driving home in the dusk I have this thought about happiness. I was happy in Portugal under wide blue skies, beach combing to the sound of the waves, in the company of my sisters, no responsibilities, care-free, soul nourished. 

But I have this other, not on holiday, life. If my happiness depends on perfect blue sky circumstances how can I ever be happy under bleak grey English skies caring for my wobbly husband?

On some deep but theoretical level, I know that it's possible to be free inside a prison of my own making. But maybe reaching for happiness despite rubbish circumstances is a goal too high for me at the moment.

Maybe for now, just biting into a homemade chocolate,  feeling the soft comfort of a hug, getting my husband to have a shower,  touched by the caring voice of a friend on the phone, is enough.

 More than enough happiness for one day -  whatever the colour of the sky.