I'm so Happy

Posted Jul 5, 01:57 PM by Kay Camenisch

I recently visited a friend that suffered a major stroke almost a year ago. I was a bit apprehensive about the visit. Trisha is not much over sixty years old, and has always lived a very active, vital life. I couldn’t imagine what she’d be like with stroke damage. With her speech affected, would we be able to have meaningful conversation?

However, I discovered I had no reason to worry. Though her walker and cane were handy, parked beside her favorite chair, she gets along fine without them most of the time. Furthermore, her smile and her gracious hospitality were not damaged at all. The visit was a highlight of the week. Many times in our short visit she said, “I’m so happy you came.”

Her speech is compromised. It’s a bit halting, but, unlike some stroke victims, she’s usually aware when she uses the wrong expression or can’t think of a word. She pauses and puzzles a moment. Occasionally she finds the word. Sometimes she asks her husband, James. Often, she says, “Well, it doesn’t matter,” and conversation continues. It seems the quality of the visit is more important to her than what she has to say.

We were close friends with James and Trisha when we lived near them in the 1980s, so it was a joy to visit in their home. Plus, the Mexican food they ordered in was delicious. However, what really made the visit special was basking in gratefulness. In spite of many challenges, Trisha is grateful for little blessings that are often overlooked. She expressed her gratefulness with “It makes me happy,” or “I’m so happy.”

One of the first things she showed us was her purse. In it she has a clever little book that someone prepared just for her. It has several tabbed sections. One has maps—of the world, the U.S., Oklahoma, and smaller bits of Oklahoma until the final page shows her neighborhood, with a star to indicate her house. When she’s talking and can’t think how to designate a particular place, she can pull out her book and point to the needed map.

Another section has a list of favorite places to eat. Under each, the items she likes are listed. When she goes to an Asian restaurant, she can whip out her book and point to what she wants. She beamed. Her little book gives her independence. She’s grateful. She said, “I’m so happy she made this for me. It helps me.”

They recently had the kitchen remodeled, simplifying and removing clutter. Trisha doesn’t cook yet, but she showed us many improvements and is thrilled with each one. She has graduated to fixing James a sandwich to eat when he comes home for lunch. It makes her “so happy” to be able to do that.

Next she showed us where they added pantry shelves beside the washer and dryer. Then her eyebrows went up, delight lit up her whole face, and she declared, “I can wash clothes now! It makes me very happy.” I wondered how long it had been since I had been so very happy to wash clothes.

She led us on into the garage where at least three eight-foot tables were set up. They were filled with items she’s getting rid of, all spread out as if on display. We had seen similar collections on the dining room table, the guest bed, and a growing pile in the den. Trisha’s preparing for a garage sale. She’s going through things to simplify her life.

She said, “It’s hard to get rid of things, but I don’t need them any more. I’ll be happy for somebody else to have them that can use them.” As we went back into the house she pointed out storage bins that she still needs to go through.

As we were leaving, she noticed her weekly pillbox on the shelf and took it down. “These are all the pills I have to take. James fixes them for me every Saturday. He’s so good to me. It makes me very happy.”

As we left, she hugged us and once again said, “I’m so happy you came.” And I am too. Happiness—as well as the gratefulness behind it—is contagious. Trisha made my day. Her happiness overflowed all over me, and I caught it from her.

Through her, I realized that there is much in my life to be happy about—much that I tend to overlook.