I’d been feeling it for weeks.  It would come over me in waves – like those first gentle breezes of summer dawns.  Again and again it came – a deep sense of inexplicable gratitude.

And it reminded me a little of the joy of a hug from a long-ago friend … or the way a certain swell of brilliant music can take your breath away … it was even a bit like the rush of a first bite of chocolate.

This recurring sense of gratitude was both fulfilling and fantastic.  It was wonderfully real yet delightfully mysterious.  And it would overtake me at the oddest moments. 

Day after day it would come to me first thing in the morning.  And, just as often, it would creep over me at sunset, or as the nightbirds were singing.  Deep, personal, breathtaking gratitude.  Gratitude for all the earth and its creatures.  Gratitude for my home and friends and family and work to be done and flowers to be planted and animals to be loved and stories to be told.

But the reason for it continued to elude me.

Then, that Saturday morning in June happened. I was once again marveling at how grateful I was for all the good things of life.  And my two much-loved dogs (part of my gratitude) were playing together – running, jumping, zooming, around the yard.  And they invited me to join in the fun.  And they tangled me in their legs.  And I hit the ground.  Hard.

My left hip was broken, my left arm fractured, other things were sprained and bruised and twisted – including a significant number of nerves affecting one of my legs.  And my thoughts of gratitude were suddenly silenced – or at least out-shouted by pain and panic, self pity and regret.

And then, through the haze of the emergency room and all through a night of surgery, I began to realize that I was being held fast by the loving hands of so many friends who’d come running, along with the compassion and skill of strangers.  In the days of hospital rooms and rehabilitation halls, more friends and caring professionals lifted me up and carried me when I could not walk alone.  Now that I am home with familiar things (that still seem strange at times), more friends come to stay with me if I’m scared, they bring me food to nourish and strengthen me, they sit and cry with me when I hurt too much.  And two loyal dogs, confused and fearful beyond understanding, yet with undeniable faith and trust in me, who waited day after day, now sit by my side with unquestioning devotion.

Through all those long dark nights and blank-wall days I thought I had lost my gratitude – that it had been smashed along with my body on that Saturday morning in June – broken into pieces and scattered in the dirt.

Yet all the while it seems there were those who were simply carrying my gratitude for me – when I was not strong enough or brave enough or just unwilling.  They held it for me and kept it safe and brought it back to me again and again to cherish and appreciate and to embrace for myself … to be overwhelmed again.

And so, with every new day, I am beginning to realize once more that inexplicable, overflowing, sense of great gratitude that comes in like music carried on a dawn breeze and embraces me like an old friend and tastes like chocolate.  

I suspect that now I understand why.