Today marks the 46th anniversary of the accident in which I lost my left leg and almost lost my right leg. Forty-Six years of life that was nearly robbed from me.
This isn’t the first—or only—time modern medicine saved my life. In 5th grade, surgery and penicillin kept me from experiencing a ruptured appendix (a fate my grandmother didn’t escape). When I was 52 years old, my breast cancer was managed by surgery and radiation.
Thinking back on my life, I am so grateful for the big moments: finding my husband and getting married, having my two children, finding a wonderful town in which to raise them, having meaningful work.
But it’s the small moments floating through my vision, the fleeting moments that bring me to my knees in gratitude . . .
Laying with my daughter before bed and talking to the fairies . . . the smell of lilacs in May . . . scrambling eggs for my son eggs before he left for school at 6:00 a.m.. . . walking in the woods when the wildflowers are blooming . . . a glance at my husband as he reads . . . the full moon taking my breath away. . . laughing with my siblings so hard I nearly pee my pants . . . kayaking next to otters . . . hours chatting on the phone with friends . . . the smell of the earth as I dig in the garden . . . the sunsets, oh, the sunsets . . . holding my mother’s hand as she took her last breath.
What’s amazing is that it took me until last year to fully feel the weight of my gratitude. The layers of grief, challenge, and erroneous beliefs masked true and deep gratitude for so long. I was just getting through each day.
I judge myself for living so long in the muck of trauma without gratitude AND I honor that that’s how long it took me to move through it and grasp gratitude on the other side like a long-lost relative coming off a plane.
I am humbled, stand in awe, and bow in deep gratitude for the life force within me and swirling all about me that fought for my right to live this life.