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She came at the end of the class and it was like she rolled in on this dark swirl, and that wild energy that the class had just danced up around us, vibrating the room fully awake, made me acutely aware that everyone could see her the way I knew her to be, and all her anger and sadness was like a hard smear all over her face, and it made her more beautiful, and more terrible, and it felt like everyone looked on as I kissed her on the cheek. People who saw nothing of my life beyond this room bore witness to the Jacobs ladder of our inside threads flipped outward. Because the blanket, it was no longer there, obscuring things. And what the class saw was not a divine being whose toes barely touched earth, whose charm and beauty left everyone graced with her presence slack-jawed and breathless. Then they moved in waves, waves of love toward me, and that shocked me right down to my bones. For some reason, that little chore brought it all home: I was on my own, in good health, held a job. I could have a party and friends would come over and dirty up the place. That trash run meant in some small way I was making my way through the world. Among the thousand of other things I’m grateful for (my wife, this little house, the mountains I can see from my city, food, beer, that my mom is alive another day).
But instead, a dark and jealous creature stalking, and me so hopelessly trapped, deflating. The expression on the faces of these near-perfect strangers, I will never forget. Come back to us and keep dancing, strengthen your muscles and quicken your steps so that you may be lighter on your feet. I’m telling you about the trash because: 1) It shuts up my whiny inner teenager on trash day, and 2) So many people aren’t in a position to even make trash, much less take it out.
She had only a few weeks to experience the physical pain, but also to experience the loss of her independence and pride. It wasn’t until this past summer that I became aware of what I’d lost and was able to find a way to hold onto, the concrete memory of losing something. Thank you Andy, for your wise guidance and inspiration.” “Wow. Just wow.” When it comes to brain function, people have their own back-up systems, already installed.
Emily Johnson *** Dear Sugar, I am grateful every single second of every day for my husband who dealt with the news of my MS diagnosis by saying, “That’s what taking the good with the bad in our vows meant.
Dear Readers, Last week I asked you to write to me about what you’re grateful for. Hundreds of you sent me emails full of love and light, even when many of them were also threaded with sorrow and pain.
I read every word of gratitude you sent me and I was touched by each email, though I could select only a portion of them to appear in this column.
As if to dull the scratchings of our own spinning creature, the one turning inside of us, restless, ready.
We throw off the blanket every week, hands flung upwards. And right now I am profoundly grateful for Kathleen M.
Who invited us to give her her first and last bath. Who made the unthinkable and abnormal into two parents caring for their child.