Tolstoy once said, "If you want to be happy, be". For the longest time I used to ponder this statement, wondering how on earth the mere act of just being, could make one happy? Some might say if I were a person facing a terminal illness, I would rejoice in the knowledge that I was alive. The same might hold true for someone recovering from an addiction or a traumatic experience. However, I can't help but wonder if my joy would be short lived once the reality of being terminally ill set in, or the temptation of my addiction, or the memories of my traumatic experience found their way back into my conscious memories. So, what then did Tolstoy mean by saying, "If you want to be happy, be"?
I believe my Father holds the key to this quagmire. As a younger man my Father worked hard. He always put his faith and beliefs first, his wife second, and family next. He never wavered in his priorities. He worked hard to make sure he not only provided financially for the family, but that he lived in a way that would set the tone for the rest of the family. He cared for my mother during each round in her fight with cancer. He cared for my Grandmothers after their husbands passed away and they needed assistance with keeping up with their homes to ensure they could maintain their independence. From the outside looking in one might think the additional responsibility my Father took on would be a burden. Something to be "lived through" or "survived". Yet with each passing year, no matter how old, how broken his judas of a body becomes, or how tired he is, my Father continues to rise to meet the challenges of providing for his family and caring for those he loves.
He uses the early hours when he cannot sleep to have coffee with his daughters, and now his grandchildren. He uses this time to listen to what is troubling them, to offer them advice, and to encourage them to live up to the greatness they were born for. He uses his fun loving spirit to make those around him laugh and to pull the ties that bind us as a family closer together so that they are strong enough to outlive him. It is through his constant love, his unwavering support, and his assistance when the family needs it the most that my Father finds great happiness. I say this not to bolster his ego, or to offer him up to be canonized as a saint (sorry Dad, I love you but I don't want your head to swell up too much). More so I believe my Father is the living example of what Tolstoy meant. To be happy, all my Father has to do is be. It is in this way I hope to be most like my parents.
I believe my Father holds the key to this quagmire. As a younger man my Father worked hard. He always put his faith and beliefs first, his wife second, and family next. He never wavered in his priorities. He worked hard to make sure he not only provided financially for the family, but that he lived in a way that would set the tone for the rest of the family. He cared for my mother during each round in her fight with cancer. He cared for my Grandmothers after their husbands passed away and they needed assistance with keeping up with their homes to ensure they could maintain their independence. From the outside looking in one might think the additional responsibility my Father took on would be a burden. Something to be "lived through" or "survived". Yet with each passing year, no matter how old, how broken his judas of a body becomes, or how tired he is, my Father continues to rise to meet the challenges of providing for his family and caring for those he loves.
He uses the early hours when he cannot sleep to have coffee with his daughters, and now his grandchildren. He uses this time to listen to what is troubling them, to offer them advice, and to encourage them to live up to the greatness they were born for. He uses his fun loving spirit to make those around him laugh and to pull the ties that bind us as a family closer together so that they are strong enough to outlive him. It is through his constant love, his unwavering support, and his assistance when the family needs it the most that my Father finds great happiness. I say this not to bolster his ego, or to offer him up to be canonized as a saint (sorry Dad, I love you but I don't want your head to swell up too much). More so I believe my Father is the living example of what Tolstoy meant. To be happy, all my Father has to do is be. It is in this way I hope to be most like my parents.
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