A Tale of Joy

The night of September 27th, 2013 was slightly chilly (no need yet for a coat, but I was thankful for my shawl) with a beautifully warm breeze.  I have no earthly idea what the weather was like on the night of September 26th, as I spent most of that night preoccupied with the arrival of my newest niece, Riven Maru Scott Ignacio-Deines.

Neither the labour nor the delivery had been quite what Aaron and Christina (my brother and sister-in-law) had been hoping for, and while they were performing the C-section, I was sitting in a waiting room feeling my intense dislike of hospitals grow with every passing minute. If anyone has ever experienced any type of claustrophobia, they'll know that the phrase "I felt the walls closing in on me" is not random imagery. It feels like the walls are actually getting closer, physically closer, and soon they will be right on top of you, with no escape route. The result for me is a nausea that sits at the base of my throat and will not be persuaded to just fuck off already.

It finally lifted when I saw my brother wheeling the most perfectly perfect piece of perfection ever created out of the operating room and into the midst of five loving, gushing relatives.

Riven, minutes out of the womb.

 It didn't take long for the nausea to return. In fact, all it took was a good look at my brother's face.

When Christina was finally moved into a recovery room, she was...shall we say...not quite lucid? Certainly not up for entertaining visitors. Her parents kindly offered to drive me home so I wouldn't have to take the bus that late at night (if they were even running at that point...I don't recall how late it was when we left).


I hadn't planned on going back to the hospital the next day, not wanting to overwhelm the new mommy, but a quick call put my worries to rest and I headed to the Royal Alex after work.  It wasn't until I was in the recovery room, watching Christina hold Riven, watching my brother moving more tentatively than I've ever seen, brand new daughter cradled in his arms, that the knot of nausea finally eased away completely, to be replaced with utter joy. I realized that this is what I'd been missing the night before: a loving, happy, if exhausted, interaction between the three of them. Just knowing that Riven was a healthy baby and that Christina had made it through her operation hadn't been enough, and I had felt all day the weight of hope and fear battling against each other in my heart.

Later, I bused across the river, then strolled home along Saskatchewan Drive. As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, it was a wonderfully pleasant night for things like strolling, the breeze gently blowing my skirt and shawl and hair around me; just enough to feel the movement, not enough to be annoying. In fact, with the weight that had just been lifted, I felt like I was floating home. Oh, what a wonderful night! What wonderful joyous things exist in the world! Finally, a smile on my face. 

About four blocks from home, an older (gentle)man in a boat of a convertible glided slowly passed me, then stopped his car, and reversed until he was right next to me. He leaned over and said, "Miss, you look absolutely lovely this evening." Then he leaned back, and without waiting for my (stunned) response, drove off in what I can only describe as the vehicular version of strolling.

Our culture has built firm walls up where interactions with random strangers are concerned. We can hardly stand to meet the gaze of people passing on the sidewalk, let alone speak to them. What could compel a person to attack those walls with something as intimate as a compliment?

I think he must have seen some measure of the joy that I was feeling. He must have seen it in the gait of my walk or the look on my face.  Or maybe he is just the kind of person who spends his late autumn evenings handing out drive-by compliments.

Whatever his reasons, I found myself imitating him today, when I passed a woman on the sidewalk after work. It wasn't merely that she was a beautiful woman with impeccably styled hair and clothing. It was the expression on her face (joy) that had me breaking out of my cultural comfort zone to look her in the eye, smile, and say "You look stunning today!"


Regardless of what causes real joy in a person, small everyday nothings or huge life-altering somethings, that joy can occasionally be so effusive that it seems to radiate out and touch people around you...even perfect strangers.  And that is awesome.

A life-altering something, in her Auntie's arms