Gratitude

Sometimes an argument over a toy can lead me to say ugly words, causing my bottomless patience to vanish in a flash

Sometimes the simple sound of Max’s heavy breathing at night can awake worry and concern

Sometimes the smell of Lucy’s hair as it is nestled tightly under my nose can be comforting

Sometimes the non-stop prattle of school day stories from the back seat can disappear into the air with little acknowledgment from me.

Car pool, packing lunches, homework, breakfast, lunch, dinner, play time, clean up, stories and the days bleed together.

And then you hear it, read it, see it

Big eyes, small hands, sometimes with a look of fear, a look of resignation. Each story tells of loss, heart break and a child yearning for the love and comfort of a home like mine.  And then the feeling starts to spread. You suddenly are reawakened to the subtle noise of craft projects, sibling squabbles, and the noise of your own children.  The sounds of love, security and comfort. Sounds that these lost children, the children with no family or parents or future can only dream about.

I don’t worry about whether or not my children will eat.

I don’t worry about how safe it is for them to go to school.

I don’t worry if my children will be kidnapped or if bombs will destroy our house.

I’m grateful that my children won’t ever have to face the fear of an unknown future, go to bed hungry or worry about being cold at night. That gratitude, that sigh of relief we all release when watching the latest news story, is fleeting. We breath it, we mean it, but it is always short-lived. Perhaps this Thanksgiving I’ll try to be grateful for feeling more gratitude.

Once again, I am inspired by Scribbit’s Write Away Contest.

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