My father developed Alzheimer’s Disease and although he lived thousands of miles away in the desert of California had made it clear that he had no desire to ever return to Canada and its winters. So we cared for him from a distance, trying to visit once or twice a year. Often we were asked why bother seeing him, he has no idea who you are, surely it makes no difference and wouldn’t you rather remember him as he was.
I am sure there have been times when you have found yourself smiling for no good reason. All the stars have mystically aligned and so a kind of joy slips in place. And it feels good, it feels right, and lasts as long as it takes for someone to ask why you are smiling. And the warmth of the sun, the sound of the breeze in the leaves, the faint smell of something good baking in the oven, the knowing of being loved, the absence of pain, and the trace of a gentle touch, all disappear in the effort of putting your finger on describing why. You are smiling.
That was my Dad’s smile as he looked up from his memory book. He didn’t know who I was, he didn’t know where he was, and, even though he could read the captions, he couldn’t describe the time and places of the pictures. But the smile was still honest and true and pure – for no good reason. And none was needed for the moment of happiness was reason enough. Like sighting a shooting star it was a fleeting but real moment that pierced a dark sky that was otherwise featureless and unchanging. A single drop into an eternity of emptiness still makes that eternity less empty, the darkness less complete, the hopelessness less encompassing. And if it took a trip of several thousand miles to produce a few smiles without reason that was a small price to pay to defeat infinity. Infinity minus one is no longer infinite and that provides me hope. It wasn’t that the god of despair had been defeated but at least I knew it was not invincible and was vulnerable to pinpricks of light. If you need to ask why that matters it sheds light more on the poverty of your soul than the logic of your reasoning. And what remains when the light gives out – a soul or logic?