Earlier today I had this brief moment of simple joy. It wasn't sparked by one thing in particular--just some combination of the sunshine, my passion iced tea, the song on the radio, the feeling of driving a brand new car. It was one of those moments where the point is that you aren't happy for any reason, you just are. Almost instantly I teared up. But let me explain: I didn't (I don't) feel guilty for being happy. I didn't suddenly remember why I ought to be sad.
Instead, I was moved by the fact that I felt such a good, pure happiness; a joy that wells up from deep contentment. I thought of how I'd been to the cemetery for the first time today, and it was okay. I thought about how my dad would (does) (will always) want me to be happy. And that I can be, and that I will be.
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