I walk to the kitchen cupboard to take out plates for dinner, and the corner of my eye catches my husband sitting in the next room. He’s so deeply absorbed in a complicated knitting stitch that he doesn’t notice me, though I’m only ten feet away. I turn to face him and let my eyes linger on his relaxed yet focused body, comfy in the loveseat with his legs stretched out on the ottoman, the table-lamp’s light shining on his hands as he knits.
What a gift that we are together in this life, I’m thinking. I want to hold on to the moment because I know it will pass—into our various chronic illnesses, our awareness of friends’ suffering, of the inevitability of suffering and loss for us all.
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