My response to the question in this week's Daily Sheet, about an unexpected moment of happiness in your life:
When I used to visit my mother in Colorado, she would be awake all night watching the stock market scroll on the TV in the living room, because she was uncomfortable sleeping in her own bed. She wanted to see the reports about the overnight Asian or European stock markets; those special reports start at 3:00 AM Colorado time (which is 5 AM in New York). It was mostly a way for her to keep occupied during the wee hours.
On the mornings when I would leave for the airport, to return home, my taxi would come at about 6:00 or 6:30 AM. Depending on the season, the sky might be dark or light, or there might be the beginnings of a sunrise. Mom would still be awake, because she'd had the stock market scroll to keep her company while I ate breakfast and made sure I'd finished packing.
One morning, I saw a beautiful sunrise over the roofs of the houses across the street, with the darker tree limbs silhouetted against it. I would have called my mom to come look, but she was comfortable in her chair, and didn't feel like standing up with her walker, and then getting into her wheelchair to come to the door. So I ran to get my camera and stood out on the porch, snapping photographs to the east, the north, and the south. Then I took my camera back inside and let my mother view the sunrise on its display window. This was a moment of happy sharing, unplanned, but not totally surprising.
Eventually those sunrise photos got posted on my computer here, and one is now my screen saver. My mother has since passed away, and although I own her old house, and I have some nice people renting the house now, it's not our family home any longer. When I catch a glimpse of that sunrise screen saver now, I often take it for granted as just a pretty picture.
But now and then, the screen saver will bring back some unexpected memories, memories of the happiness which I shared with my mom that long-ago morning. I will remember what it felt like to stand in the cool air that morning, on the front porch in Colorado, looking for the best angle from which to snap photographs for Mom to see. And I will remember Mom finally making it across the room in her wheelchair, and sitting just inside the front door to make sure I got safely into my taxi. And then to say, "Be sure to call when you get home."
Maybe this memory is particularly strong this weekend because Sunday is Mother's Day.