simple gifts

The other day, Catherine remarked that she was able to take a deep breath without pain for the first time since her emergency-room episode of several weeks ago. She was so thankful and grateful for that breath and that lack of pain. I remember how it is to have to breathe shallowly to avoid pain: my couple of bouts with pleurisy provided all the experience I desire. And I remember the blessed feeling of relief when it was finally over.

That all got me to thinking about the cancer months, and how I thought of it as a victory in April to be able to walk to the mailbox and back. How long ago that seems! And yet the memories are fresh as ever, especially when they come unbidden like that.

The thing is, I should be grateful now that I can walk to the mailbox and back. (That's something my mom can't do right now, after Monday's surgery on a snapped ankle tendon.) Every good thing that seems so invisible to us is indeed a precious gift: our outlandish wealth, our nearly infinite ability to adapt — the very ability that makes such things invisible in the first place, that all-embracing human resilience that, paradoxically, puts gratitude in such short supply.

Your lack of pain in daily things is something to be grateful for. Your trip to the mailbox is a victory. Breathe deeply.