Happy or Content

by Bill Digleria

Mr. Digleria is a current Resident of Columbia Lutheran Home. His piece will be published in These Days, a daily devotion book, January 2019

Since I was diagnosed with cancer about seven years ago, I have had time to reminisce, contemplate, and do all those things you’re supposed to do when you’ve almost met your Maker. I’ve been confined to a nursing home since my cancer surgery, and I’ve learned some essential life lessons here. Once conclusion I’ve come to is that there’s a difference between being happy and being content.

During my earlier years, and in my former life, I spent lots of time seeking happiness. Here at the nursing home it’s contentment we’re after.

When I first arrived, an aide took me on a tour around the place and we ended up in a room with a piano. I asked if I could play a tune or two and got the OK. I played for five minutes and then pushed my wheelchair away from the piano. Just then another aide arrived to ask me to wait a minute. Apparently a resident down the hall had heard me play and wanted to hear more. She arrived moments later in her wheelchair, and I played a couple more piano pieces for her. I noticed that she was crying and realized that my music had touched her inner self. The scene has stuck with me throughout my time here. It definitely falls into the contentment category.

Another clarifying experience happened soon after that. I made a friend who couldn’t hear or speak but who had the most beautiful smile you ever saw. I talked with the Speech Therapist and suggested we take my friend to the piano and try something. I had seen deaf people dancing before, and I knew they listened to the music by feeling the vibrations through the floor. So we placed my friend’s hands on the piano while I played. All of a sudden her face beamed with the glow of the sun in summer. That moment was one of the most beautiful things that has ever happened to me.

There’s a lady on our floor whose husband comes every morning and brings her a rose from the garden at home that she had nurtured for decades. She and her husband came to listen to me play the piano one morning- playing daily is what I call my “therapy.” After listening for about ten minutes one morning, she wheeled over to me. To my astonishment, she offered me the rose her husband had picked that morning. I tried hard to hide my grateful tears from her, but they flowed down.

Here’s one of the most important lessons I’ve learned in the nursing home about sharing contentment: if you see someone in the hallway and you say, “Hi, how are you?” make sure you mean it! Skip the perfunctory greetings and rely on the sincere greetings that come from the heart. Give a little tap on the wheelchair with your warm hello. People will know when you are being genuine. And therein lies the contentment.