Richard, my sweetie, is worried about his vision. I am worried about my pain condition. These worries usually play quietly through the rumblings of our day. Sometimes they squeeze through the busy-ness and force our attention, insisting we sit with them for a while. Richard covers one eye as he looks at the angles in the living room, searching for squiggles or blind spots. I curl over and mumble softly to my pain, asking it to calm down, to go away.
The other morning, we awoke, spooning -- huddled under the warm quilt, arms and legs entwined, luxuriating in utter coziness and love.
Later that day, Richard said to me, "You know, I don't need my vision to enjoy a moment like this morning. I can have that sweetness, no matter what."
What sweet moments have you experienced, moments whose sweetness isn't tainted by illness?
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