Diana is 88. We met while out for a walk Sunday night after a confluence of random decisions that day.
After a long day driving to Tahoe and back for a ski day, our we had an early dinner, then Benjamin and I headed to the park to take advantage of the longer day. It’s been very wet weather this winter and mosquitos were rapid. After Lena joined us at the park, we fled the blood-sucking insects to walk the neighborhood. She wanted to take pictures of flowers to paint, and there was one tree in particular she wanted to photograph on Jerome Street.
Completing the short walking loop, we came back around towards our house when I spotted Diana across the street. I told Benjamin – “Let’s cross here…” I’m not sure exactly why. I just felt like it would be nice to say hello to her. I’ve seen here out from time and time, and I’ve seen how old people love to be around kids – just seeing them can bring them joy. Little did I know how important this would be for her that night.
As we approached, I said hello and she replied with a soft “Hi there…,” her voice crackling. I asked her if everything was okay.
She stopped, looked at me and said, “Well… no… I just got some bad news from Minnesota.”
“I’m sorry to hear about that. Would you like to talk about it?”
“That’s okay. I don’t want to bother you with it.”
“It’s no bother. We’re just out for a walk. My name is Scott, by the way.”
“Nice to you meet you, Scott. I’m Diana.”
Diana was sad because her last niece had just passed away, and had just received the news. Then she said that this was really hard on her because her husband just died three weeks ago and she was “just getting over that.”
As we talked, she shared more about her story – they were a military family, that her daughter had recently had a stroke and that Sunday was her birthday. As we wound down our conversation with Diana, Lena and I each gave Diana a hug. We showed her where we lived. Along the way, she stopped to tell us – “I can’t believe that you would stop and ask this little old woman what the trouble was. I just can’t express to you how much appreciate that.”
On Monday, Benjamin and I bought flowers for her. Benjamin drew a picture of a one big heart with a bunch of little hearts inside. (He even paused the iPad to take on this task.) I walked over to Diana’s house, flowers and picture in hand, and knocked on the door. No answer. I rang the doorbell. No answer. I knocked again. No answer. I was worried. I thought something might have happened to her, but with nothing to do, I left the flowers and picture on her doorstep.
Tuesday evening, I walked over again. The flowers were gone, relieving my immediate worry. I knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again. No answer. I rang the doorbell. No answer. I could hear the TV on inside, and knocked one more time. Diana opened the door and was startled to see me.
“Were you knocking?”
“I did, and I was just about leave. Sorry to startle you so much.”
She had been in her backyard cleaning up some flowers and just happened to be coming out front for something.
It took her a moment to place who I was. “I’m Scott. We met the other night when you were out for a walk. I thought I’d come by to check on you to make sure everything was okay.”
“Oh yes. Thank you. I’m doing much better.”
We chatted a while and agreed that we’d all go to lunch or dinner sometime soon. “I’m heading out of town for a couple of days and my wife’s mother is coming to visit. Maybe I’ll have them come by to visit over the next day or two.”
“Thank you for stopping to talk to me the other night. I can’t tell you how much appreciate what you kids did for me.”
Today, Lena told me that Diana stopped by our house – “I talked to a very nice young man yesterday, and he said that I should come over and check on you guys while he was away.” Again she said, this time to Lena, “I can’t tell you how much appreciate what you kids did for me.”
Beneath her sadness, lay joy and happiness. It just needed to be revealed for the world to see and for her to feel it.
I remember visiting my great-grandmother when I was eight or nine years old. Bedridden, she would say – “I wish the Good Lord would just take me. I don’t why I’m still here.” Even at eight or nine, I understood. She had outlived several of her kids, and her husband had died decades ago. Lena’s grandmother lived alone in Ukraine, and even with her son and his family living nearby, there had to be long stretches of loneliness and sadness before she passed away – no one to help her share and remove that sadness to expose the joy that lay beneath. I saw her joy during our visit there ten years ago. Lena and I spent the day and the night listening to stories about her children and about her husband. She sang songs from her childhood for us. She told us old village jokes. We just needed be there to help her find her joy.
Maybe there are no accidents. Maybe the universe conspired to have us meet Diana. Or maybe there’s just a lot sadness around us every day – we just need to stop to look and ask.
How much sadness are we carrying around within ourselves – caustic feelings of self-doubt, that we’re not worthy or that we’re not good enough? How often do we repress our Self from looking for help, from asking for a bent ear to listen to our struggles, strains and pains? How often do we suppress our own experience of happiness and joy?
How much are we willing to share of ourselves, to help other cope with whatever sadness they are feeling in this moment, in this day, in their life, to allow ourselves to feel this joy? We know it’s there. We suppress it. We ignore it. We let it sit there like a disease on our soul.
What if we could help each share our sadness, to shake it into the air and let it disperse in the wind so that all that’s left is joy and happiness?
Underneath sadness is effusive joy that we just need to uncover, to let the joy laying dormant, repressed by a blanket of sadness, out into the world. I saw this in Diana’s expression of gratitude and joy that someone would listen to her. I’ve felt it myself in the joy I received by helping her, by caring for a complete stranger that’s now become a friend.
It’s okay to be sad. Now let it out, and help others do the same, because underneath is the joy we all deserve to experience.
* Diana is not her real name. I’ve changed it her to protect her privacy.