I'm sad about a lot of things. I'm mad about not being able to understand why I make such a big deal out of invisible things that I have no possibility of fully understanding. I don't understand why understanding these things is so important to me. I can't find anything. Everything's way too big, or too small.
Nothing is true, final, absolute.
There seems to be nothing to fall back on.
No foundation. The important, tangible stuff I think I'm discovering ends up being trash somebody already threw out.
I try to remember Oma. I loved my grandmother. I respected her point of view. It took her dying for me to finally get it. Her simple wisdom.
She was on morphine in the hospital the day I visited her, she couldn't sit up on her own, could barely see, barely eat, hardly hear. She knew she was dying.
As best she could in her condition, with all of my brothers and sisters crowded around her bed, she felt it necessary to speak her mind.
There were two things. A lifetime of experiences boiled down to nothing grand. No big concepts. Just two simple things. Things I'd heard people say before.
Un-original. Nothing new.

Oma grew up without money. She didn't have it easy and was no stranger to hard times. For example: as a little girl, Oma was forced to steal so she could feed and clothe herself. Selling stolen flowers to women from the upper class neighborhoods helped pay for meals and going into her father's wallet while he was in an alcoholic stupor made it possible for her to buy shoes. Now on her death bed, in between bites of baby food, my grandmother made a point of telling us how to deal with adversity:

1. " Don't let life get ya down."

Oma laughed all the time. Somehow she died with a smile on her face, even though the doctor on hand claimed such a feat impossible. The miracle of laughter was lost on me. I used humor mostly as a defense mechanism to keep myself from trouble or boredom or from facing any something that bothered me or diverting someone's attention away from the subject at hand or making me feel less awkward in any number of discomforting situations.
I knew how important it was to make others laugh. Took pressure off me.I took it for granted that I could make myself laugh. That I could laugh at/in any and all situations. That it was possible to let go of anything,no matter how awful or horrifying --- finding the wonderful absurdity inherent to each and every experience.
During the course of our brief visit to my grandmother's hospital room, many jokes were made, but due to Oma's hearing loss, she missed the majority of them. However, one time she caught one regarding her situation. I can't remember exactly what was said but she laughed at her own expense.
My mom commented on her retaining her sense of humor even in her difficult situation.

2. " Laughing's free." was the response.

I'd heard these things before, but never said so sincerely. Oma made it clear that happiness wasn't given by God or friends or even
family. There wasn't ," Don't let life get you down BY," or " Just laugh BECAUSE," what Oma said to me was ," Decide to be happy."
She didn't say it was easy, or that everything would always go well. Keep trying, keep pushing, be strong: laugh when things don't seem to be going right.
Happiness is a decision. In the darker days of my past, someone stating this would've driven me to suicide. At those times a decision was out of the question. I was drowning. Choking on impossible sadness. It would've been impossible for me to survive finding truth in a decision for happiness.
Finally, I understand that being happy isn't the ability to turn a feeling on and off at will. Happiness is realizing the impossibility for things
to be good all the time, recognizing when things are bad, accepting them for what they are, and letting go. Deciding to be happy is impossible unless I make being sad okay. This may sound strange but being sad is now part of my happiness.
I still have bad days. Awful days. Incapacitating. But I can see them now. Now, I can face them.
Two simple concepts I'd heard a hundred times before from other people were said again by my grandmother, helping me see
how to be okay even as I'm failing. Down on my luck, got a bad hand, can't count, poor gambler, out of the game, but --- ahh --- what the hell!

"Yahtzee!"