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Day One Hundred Twenty Six:  Green Sunsets

Forgetting when he told me himself I was reminded at Paul’s Dedication that he was colour blind, and it reminded me yet again how everyone sees things differently.  That moon in the sky?  I see it different than you, and that is such a beautiful thing.  It gives everyone a different, unique experience to their own organs, and for that I am grateful.  How would I be the person I am without seeing the moon as I do?  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I wish I could see those green sunsets Paul talked so lovingly about, but my sunsets are usually Valentine red to marigold, if I can see them at all, sometimes the colours are blocked by the light in my eyes.  I think about these things, those little details that most people overlook, because it’s important to me.  Have you ever sat and listened to someone walk through grass with shoes on?  Everyone speaks so fondly of bare feet on grass, but the shoes hitting the short plants really…it’s something like a soft crunch, or a small closure.  IT’s fascinating to me, these little things.

So when I’m about to go into surgery I think of such things while in the waiting room, when they stick me with an IV, when I’m laying and being stuck with sticky heart monitors and being told to count from ten, of those little details.  That piano riff, that smile, the sun in my eyes at sunset, things that I am so grateful for.  This surgery on Thursday is less uncertain than my others, but it is anesthetic nonetheless.  Would it be alright if I thought only about the machines buzzing and sighing eside me while I was slowly being pressed into involuntary unconsciousness?  I think not, as other things will better calm me down and make it all….worth it.

As for everything else, the other little things around me everyday I find time to appreciate them, but those moments get swept away under other priorities, thoughts, busy-ness of the days that pass.    I can’t say that I always appreciate them, but I really do try.

What if I had lost my voice?  What if I had lost something worse, like my resolve or my hope?  I guess those things come and go, but I am thankful for the sight that I do have and am not bitter for what I have lost.  Maybe that’s a little thing that we all overlook too quick, those little things, or those things we have lost, and maybe didn’t appreciate enough when we had.

I don’t want to preach, or lecture, but take things and appreciate them.  If it’s your mom, or that option for whole-grain toast at breakfast the other day, or the opportunity to have a decent job or go to school.  Some things are in the shadow of harder, darker, more difficult things, but imagine your life without those things, and you’ll think twice before complaining.

I guess I still complain if there’s no whole grain toast, though, so who am I to say?

See you,

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