My daughters have a disease that could kill them. When the oldest was a baby, I was so angry and scared, I sometimes couldn’t breathe.
The thousands of days since spent on this unexpected path have changed me. The fear is still there, but no longer brings nightmares. The anger is harder to control – probably a personality quirk.
I’ve learned that everyone has something. It doesn’t matter what it seems like from the outside looking in – no one’s life is perfect. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not gleeful that others’ lives aren’t going the way they planned; knowing it just makes me feel less alone.
In the States, Thanksgiving is almost here. We’re not overly sentimental at my house. Well, I am, but the girls have an annoying habit of laughing when I get to sniffing about some little thing. I rarely get to indulge my schmaltzy side.
But, since they’re not here to see me write this, let me say that I’m thankful for today and every yesterday I’ve had with my daughters.
I’m thankful for fierce hugs from little arms, wet kisses and sleepy yawns. I’m thankful for other parents who have, over the years, taken time with me.
I’m thankful for my extended family – not always understanding the medical lingo but constantly willing to listen.
I’m thankful I get to go to work each morning and that I care about what I do.
I want to say I’m thankful for tomorrow, but superstition warns against counting unhatched chickens, so I’ll just say Happy Thanksgiving. Whatever that something is that affects your life, I hope it leaves you room for a little thanks. It feels kind of good.