Happiness: The Unalienable Right

In September, I spoke at a memorial service for my fallen Naval Academy classmates. While writing down my thoughts, I speculated what our dearly departed would want for those they left behind. My conclusion was happiness.

USNA 1993 Reunion Brunch Following Our Memorial Service.

As my first piece of 2019, I thought it appropriate to talk about happiness this New Year's Day. It may seem like a minor thing, but it is an unalienable right proclaimed in the Declaration of Independence.

We have life. We have liberty. Those rights were given to us. But it's up to us to pursue our individual happiness.

We all want to be happy. But the trick is figuring out how to achieve it. I've spoken a lot about simplicity, but that pertains to things like systems and products, not people.

While the recipe for happiness is simple, it does require some focus and attention.

Meaning

A life of happiness begins with making meaning, which is a very personal process. Making meaning and being happy requires a few things.

1. Belonging

In order to belong, you'll need candid relationships with others where you can be yourself, not your beliefs.

2. Purpose

Purpose is simply using your strengths to serve others. While a person can have multiple purposes, it's a personal choice regarding which ones to pursue.

3. Transcendence

Transcendence is simply something that lifts you to a higher calling. In its basic sense, transcendence is an existence or experience beyond typical. I don't mean it to represent metaphysical, paranormal, or supernatural.

A higher calling is something that drives a person beyond what's typical, due to their devotion to duty or expectation. It could be writing, religion, military, medicine, parenting, etc. It involves giving up personal gains for the greater good. As one example, it could be pro bono work like open-source coding or free legal advice.

4. Storytelling

Storytelling is the story you tell yourself, about yourself (and, perhaps, others). The beauty of telling your story is that you are the author and you can edit and change the story as you live it.

Armed with this knowledge, I encourage you to go out and perform all manner of things thereunto pertaining in order to be happy and live a meaningful life with a health dose of love.

Carpe diem.

⁂

The following is my memorial service speech.

U.S. Naval Academy Chapel.

We are here today to remember our classmates who are no longer with us.

SQUEEZE
And we are reminded that they each had to squeeze their entire life into a shorter period of time than we have been given. We’ve outlived them.

SAD
We sit here and allow ourselves to be sad.
And that’s OK.
We cannot separate our memory of them from the empty sadness it brings us.
To do otherwise would not be human or compassionate.
It’s OK to be sad.

INSPIRE
But we didn’t come here, this morning, to only be sad as we remember them.
When we look back at their lives, it should inspire us to enjoy our own life more.
It should remind us to live in the present.
To enjoy the moment.
To enjoy the simple things that we encounter every day.

DASH
We know the date our fallen classmates were born.
And we know the date that they left us.
And that their entire life;
All of our lives;
Is represented by that dash in between those two dates that define us.

LIFE IS SHORT
It's not only that life is so short, but also that we’re dead for so long.
So, what advice might our fallen classmates give us, today, after we leave our reunion and go home, back to our daily routines?

HAPPINESS
And my answer is happiness.
Whatever makes you happy while maintaining a responsibility to the long-term.
We don’t pay enough attention to our own happiness.
But it’s important.
We shouldn’t forget that our country was built for it, literally.
Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
We have life.
We have liberty.
It’s up to each of us to pursue our happiness.

So, we remember our fallen classmates, today, with fondness, respect, and love; and with the sadness that they left us too early. And, as I mentioned earlier, it’s okay to allow yourself to be sad, this morning, and then pursue your own happiness while we live the dash between the two most important dates that define our lives.

Thank you and carpe diem.

My Oldest Friend

Wynne Matheson Trenholme
13 August 1914 – 15 March 2018

A lifelong friend of mine and second father, Wynne Trenholme, passed away this morning at 103 years old.
What a run!

Although it had been several years since I last saw him, we still spoke, from time to time, especially since he turned 100.

He was still sharp as a tack. One of his oldest memories was sitting atop of his father's shoulders while watching a WW I parade.

Stories

I first met Wynne when I was five years old. As a kid, and throughout high school, Wynne taught me about electronics, ham radio, the steam cycle on ships, and firearm & motorcycle safety, to name a few things. He always had great stories from the South Pacific during his time in the Merchant Marines during WW II.

Apollo LEM

Wynne's career highlight, while employed by Grumman, was the work he did on the Apollo Lunar Module program. (The Lunar Module is the spacecraft that landed on the moon, best know for becoming a life raft for the Apollo 13 crew.)

Wynne gave me several astronaut training manuals which I still have. Here's one that I scanned to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the first moon landing: https://goo.gl/9v8VNo

Wynne Matheson Trenholme
13 August 1914 - 15 March 2018
An amazing man who lead a very long and full life.
He was my oldest friend.

Carpe Diem.

Wynne Trenholme from Joe Moreno on Vimeo.
My previous posts about Wynne: Personal Hero: Wynne M. Trenholme (W2LDK) Wynne M. Trenholme at 96

Saying Goodbye to Cocoa

Everything in the universe has a life cycle. And I mean that literally, not in a metaphysical sense. It doesn't matter if it's the trees, birds, stars, planets, or people; they come into existence, exist, and then go out of existence. This is even true for dogs.

This afternoon I said goodbye to Cocoa, my beagle buddy for nearly 12 years. It's the first time that I ever experienced this, so I wondered how I'd know when it would be time. This past week he'd been having trouble keeping food down so he was prescribed some meds several days ago. Unfortunately, that didn't help. Another trip to the vet, yesterday, and some x-rays revealed large masses in his abdomen that were squeezing out his healthy organs. The vet pointed them out on the x-rays and her words were very grim and unexpected when she said that he'd have only days left since he wasn't eating. Last night, I made it a point to take some self-portraits and videos of him and me.

After a long night, last night, of seeing him trying to sleep while being uncomfortable we took him in this morning for some fluids and pain meds while making arrangements for his final vet visit tomorrow. The vet made it clear that he'd seem more like himself after the fluids and pain meds, but not to misinterpret that as a sign of things getting better.

After returning home, this morning, he and I curled up on the bed for a couple hours. That entire time he only moved once. His breathing was labored and more and more frequently he'd stop breathing for 10 – 12 seconds. I'd watch his chest wondering if that was his last breath. He'd become more and more finicky about what he'd eat over the past week but, yesterday, he gobbled down some rotisserie chicken without vomiting. Unfortunately, that didn't work today. He just looked at the chicken without any interest. The prospect of him not eating or drinking all day foreshadowed what would be a long, painful night.

After making a phone call to the vet his final appointment for tomorrow was moved to 4:00 PM today. I posted and tweeted the pending visit and then went offline, shutting down my iPhone and leaving it at home. It would be almost six hours until I was ready to go back online.

Having never gone through this I was pleased to see that the vet's office had a "comfort room." This small room was made up like a living room with a comfy couch, large ottoman, and a music player. There was a CD in the music player and when I hit play I heard the most gentle, soothing, appropriate piano music for the moment. There was a large curtain covering the window and, as I had correctly suspected, behind the curtain was a door to the parking lot which I parked next to. A private entrance out of the comfort room made a world of difference when leaving.

The vet came in and took Cocoa into the back to give him a sedative to put him, literally, to sleep. She brought him back into the comfort room and we just pet him for about ten minutes. When the vet saw that the sedative hadn't taken effect – he was clearly fighting it – she took him into the back for another dose. That did the trick. About six or seven minutes later Cocoa was sedated. Actually, it seemed more like he was paralyzed as the tip of his tongue hung out of his mouth while his eyes remained opened and blinked occasionally.

The vet tech used hair clippers to shear off a small patch of fur on his rear leg and then the vet stuck in a catheter needle and administered two drugs. As the vet had foretold, Cocoa's eyes didn't close as life left his body. After the vet confirmed that his heart had stopped she apologized as if she had been personally attached to this dog and this was an exceptionally rare event for her. The unexpected caring was extremely comforting.

Was it the right decision? Was it the right time? Certainly. But that doesn't make it any easier and I still can't imagine how empty this house will be without him. The heartbreaking part is that this little guy looked up to me for his daily needs and there was no way that I could make him understand what was going on. And, the sad coincidence of all this is that six years ago, today, my father passed away. But, ironically, I think it'll be easier to have a single day to remember dad and dog.

Some last licks on Saturday night.

Benito Louis Moreno

Ben Moreno

June 25, 1935 – February 10, 2007

Funeral Mass Eulogy for Ben Moreno
Delivered by his son, Joe, at St. Hugh’s Church on 2/14/2007

When I heard the news that Dad had passed away the first thought that immediately ran through my head was, “Boy, I’m really going to miss him.”
Surprisingly, I wasn’t as shocked or distraught as I thought I would be considering how close Dad and I were. And then I realized that we never had any unresolved issues. We never left anything unsaid that needed to be said. This probably comes from growing up in my New York - Italian family were we always spoke our mind - sometimes quite loudly.

Mom, Margaret: The next few weeks and months are going to be tough on us as we learn to live in a world without Dad. But, we will get through it. We will.

We all have great memories of my father. I’m sure my Mom will be more than happy to tell everyone about one particular incident some 23 years ago on the Belt Parkway. As for me, I want to share three memories of my father with everyone here that have come to mean so much to me over the past few days.

The first memory I want to share is that I vividly and clearly remember the last time I was with Dad. As he dropped me off at the airport we both got out of the car and we gave each other a big hug and kiss. What a great way to say goodbye.

The second memory is from last Thursday night. Laura and I video conferenced with Dad for quite some time. For about thirty or forty-five minutes we got to see and hear each other one final time as we shot-the-breeze, reminisced, and laughed.
This memory has come to mean so much to me.

The last memory I want to share with you occurred a few hours after I found out that Dad had passed. I turned on my computer and there was the last e-mail Dad had sent to me on Friday night. It almost seemed like a message from beyond the grave. I had helped Dad fix a problem with his computer on Friday evening and his final message to me was simply, “Joe: Thank You. Love, Dad.”

No, Dad, thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve given us. I want to especially thank you for giving me the courage and confidence to follow my wildest dreams and jump for the stars. And Mom, thank you for giving me the common sense to always make sure I had a safe place to land for those times when I failed.

We love you, Dad. God bless you. And, boy, we’re really going to miss you.