I have had ample opportunities this week to count my many, many blessings. And to count my lucky stars, of which there are many. And to breathe a sigh of relief at the multiple bullets I have dodged. Hanging around hospitals will do that to you.
The Mister's 83-year-old aunt had a stroke last Saturday, and we've been up and down to the hospitals every day since. (It wasn't a severe stroke, and she's going to make a full recovery.) Aunt Fran (as everyone calls her, not just her neices and nephews) has been incredibly good to us and our children over the years. Never was there a woman who would babysit on shorter notice, and then clean the bathrooms while we were out. Often doing a vastly better job than I would have done myself.
It's hard to see someone you love in a hospital bed, looking scared and vulnerable. And we are so very, very lucky that the stroke was not worse, and she's still here and will be fine.
I've heard this week of cancer diagnoses of young parents, of mental illness and of car accidents. And I realize, I have no problems at all. None.
Between work and trips to the hospital and such, there hasn't been time for much else. Except counting my blessings and thanking my lucky stars.