A Prescription for Happiness

I hope that by seeking out small doses of happiness when I need them to help see me through a particularly challenging moment/day/week, I will remain strong enough and well prepared for a time when the sadness of losing Dunc begins to fade and happy moments will be purely happy once more.

In the 'manual' I read after Dunc's death, the author suggests that a surviving partner will almost inevitably experience depression at some point. As a result, I have been mindful of trying to look after my mental health (although I'm sure many of my friends would say I'm several years too late!!). I certainly feel a great responsibility to ensure that I remain emotionally stable and well, so that I can be the best mummy that I can be for Sam and Thomas. I'm not uncomfortable with the idea of asking the GP for antidepressants if I feel I need them, but, so far, I have managed to find a number of ways to lift my mood when required.

Dunc and I laughed a lot during our relationship. Initially, it felt odd to be laughing after his death (and even at points during the evening that he died), but I feel strongly that Dunc would want us to be happy, not sad. There has been plenty of gallows humour in the last six months, and I have come to learn which friends know me well enough to laugh with me, and which folk are uncomfortable with it. Laughter, as they say, is the best medicine, and it certainly seems to be so. If nothing else, it serves as a distraction from the sadness which might otherwise threaten to overwhelm me at times. My wonderful friends, who have dedicated so much of their time to me since Dunc died in April this year, have provided plenty of opportunities for chatter and laughter. The company of good friends should definitely form part of any prescription for happiness.

There are frequently humorous incidents involving the boys which make me happy too. Maybe only a parent could appreciate the amusement derived from attempting to catch an escapee turd in the boys' bath, floating casually amongst the Octonauts! I'm sure though that many people would be amused by Sam's recent revelation that (nearly) all men who have moustaches are robbers! Even on my less joyful days, the boys bring a smile to my face with their infectious giggling. (Sometimes, it feels as if someone forgot to tell them that they were supposed to be sad - and thank goodness for that!) On days when I am totally worn out, I still appreciate the two huge blessings that are my bonkers boys. They are definitely the best tonic!

For me personally, getting out in the fresh air is a particularly good remedy for sadness. After spending part of last week on the local children's ward, with a poorly Sam, I felt compelled to visit our favourite local park at the weekend. I wanted the opportunity to breathe deeply in the cold autumn air. Sam was barely well enough to venture out, but both boys were exhibiting signs of cabin fever too, just like I was. We huddled together on a bench, watching the colourful leaves blowing from the trees in the strong wind. The boys squealed with delight as they spun round fast on the roundabout and leapt from one part of a huge fallen tree to another. While they were scooting off in the distance, I had a tearful word or two with my invisible superhero about the week that I had just endured, but I returned home feeling rejuvenated and more able to face the rest of the weekend.

Another good 'pick me up' since Dunc's death has been exercise. I have always enjoyed exercising and have found it hard that my opportunities to do so have been somewhat limited by the fact that I have become a single parent. However, I have managed a few workouts in the gym, a lot of bouncing on the trampoline with Sam and Thomas, and a few refreshing bike rides with my incredibly tolerant 'cycling friends'. One of the most enjoyable exercise-induced endorphin rushes has been created by doing some Let's Dance on the Wii with friends. Just dancing to a few songs seems to be enough to make us breathless and to laugh at our own efforts at the same time.

I've received a lot of cards and gifts from kind and generous folk since Dunc died and these bring happiness too. They remind me that I am not alone and that there are people rooting for me from far and wide. They make me smile and they bring joy at times when I might have started the day feeling a bit down. I have allowed myself small treats along the way during the last few months as well (and have probably eaten my own body weight in chocolate). I have also eased off on the rules from time to time. I used to be the one in our relationship who liked to have everything carefully planned in advance and a routine in place that we could all follow (preferably to the letter). I am learning gradually to give myself (and the boys) a little slack, as it makes for a happier household. I have realised what really matters and I wish I had appreciated this more while Dunc was still alive. (I'm sure he'd be very amused to read this after his death, when he'd spent the last ten years of his life trying to persuade me to relax!)

If you'd asked me seven months ago to describe happiness, I would have said happiness was: lying in the sun with a good book or waking up to a snowy morning; spending quality time with my family or taking a peaceful, uninterrupted bubble bath; seeing fireworks fizzing in the crisp November night air; the moment when Thomas whispers, "I love you, Mummy," in his sleep as I tuck him in; playing my favourite tunes on the piano or taking a beautiful photo that captures a special moment; witnessing Sam's excitement at learning something new. These things still bring me happiness but my gorgeous husband is no longer here to share them with me. It's a pretty fundamental change that affects everything, including the depth to which anything currently has the power to make me happy. Many happy moments are now tinged with sadness, and the physical ache of missing Dunc is particularly strong at such times. However, I hope that by seeking out small doses of happiness when I need them to help see me through a particularly challenging moment/ day/ week, I will remain strong enough and well prepared for a time when the sadness of losing Dunc begins to fade and happy moments will be purely happy once more.

Dunc and the boys enjoying themselves in the fresh air at Batsford Arboretum, Autumn 2012.

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