Every time I sank into the bed’s thick and supporting mattress, I was thankful. I was drifting in giant arms, holding me. It wasn’t something I articulated at the time; it was just a sense. But I needed to pay attention to the sense, and to the rush of gratitude. Such moments—seconds really—changed the grinding reality. The seconds, through the days, created habit. So that allowing gratitude to sneak in, for simple things—which in fact seemed not so simple, hence the gratitude—was what made so much bearable.
