Returned a few hours ago from an early morning grocery store run. I was hoping to score some highly prized toilet paper.
I was allowed to buy 4 rolls.
Apparently, the trick is getting to the store at 6:00am vs. 6:45am.
I’m feeling a bit sick of this whole thing. I was not able to take in my own grocery bags. I could not buy more than one carton of eggs. Yadda yadda yadda…
I’m whining now. The world isn’t the same and I don’t like it. I don’t like wearing gloves and an N95 mask to buy fucking groceries. I don’t like asking the grocery store workers, many of whom I know on a first-name basis if they and their colleagues are okay.
I don’t like having an orange Cheeto despot running my country.
But all that is beside the point.
Today, I’m healthy. Today, I’m not struggling to breathe.
Today…I’m alive. And that’s a gift.
When my 17 y/o step-son became a quadriplegic in 1999 (he died in 2005) as the result of a car accident, I learned first-hand the advantage of not taking the little things for granted. Matt used to tell me he had dreams about running…about simply walking. It fucking broke my heart. In fact, it still is hard to talk about.
So when I see myself spiraling into self-pity, I remember Matt. I remember the things he yearned for that I took for granted. I miss him so much.
Today, I’ll remember to be thankful for the little things.