Joy, joy, joy. We used to sing a song when I was a child about joy being down in my heart, down in my heart, down in my heart all day. That song came to me today when I was thinking about Lisa. We talked last night about joy. This is essentially what I told her:
I first discovered real, true joy when my children were born. I never knew I had the capacity for love and joy that I did until I held first my daughter, then three years later, my son in my arms. Watching them grow into intelligent, caring, giving adults was a lot of work, but work I would never trade for anything in the world. But once they were grown, while I still feel the joy of the love I have with them, that joy is a different, almost distant kind of joy. They have their own lives now and I rejoice with them in their triumphs and grieve with them when they are hurt. But I no longer derive from them the kind of joy for myself I once did.
Then, just over two years ago, another kind of joy entered my life. A joy I once again had no clue existed. Lisa walked into my life and I learned to love again, to laugh again. She helped me to gain self-confidence and self-respect and how it's okay not to question every decision I've ever made in life. And I gained joy, joy, joy. The kind of joy that does reside deep down in my heart. My heart leaps with joy whenever I think of her - her beautiful eyes and hair, her soft skin and her sensuous body. My love for her grows daily, as does the joy she brings me.
Joy, joy, joy. Deep down in my heart. Thank you, beautiful lady!