The other night when Dad hugged me, he tapped my shoulder (the right one, with only a partial deltoid) and he told the room, “In July, it will have been five years. And her doctor will call her cured.” I’m grateful for that.
This week Jake has been sick and couldn’t go to school. Fortunately, I didn’t miss a moment of work, because I can do it all from home. I’m grateful for that.
My brother lives far away in Wyoming. He’s one of those really special brothers who always liked us, gave us compliments and protected us as if he were the older one. He’s coming home for Christmas, and I’m grateful for that.
Three of my four grandparents are still living, and they’re these sweet, wonderful people who add all kinds of richness to my life.
I wrote a book, and this savvy, beautiful agent in New York City told me she’d help me get published one day.
I finished a novel.
I’ve had so many dreams come true that I’ve had to come up with new ones.
I’ve made new friends and grown because of them.
Life with my husband gets happier every day. And that’s all him.
My parents taught me this really beautiful story about sorrow and redemption and an ultimate happy ending when every tear will be wiped away. And sometimes I’ve doubted. And always I believe it in a wondering sort of way, asking “Please be real,” even as I’m moved to pray my grateful thoughts. But mostly I believe. And it’s a beautiful, sustaining thing. And I’m grateful for that.
And for all these things, amen.