No surprise: I'm thankful that I'm alive. I came very close to buying the farm in February. A lot closer than I realized at the time. You don't truly appreciate what a gift life is until you come close to losing it.
I'm thankful for Mary, who gives me a reason to live. She has taken excellent care of me. I'll never be able to repay her, and the wonderful thing is, she doesn't expect me to. I love her more than life itself.
I'm thankful for the doctors, nurses, technicians, therapists and social workers at Kennestone Hospital. They helped get me well, get me back on my feet, and find a way to pay for it all. Have a few extra bucks? Support your local hospital. If people gave to hospitals the way they give to political campaigns, we wouldn't have a health care crisis. I believe that.
I'm thankful for Father John, Sister Lucy, Pete George and the other ministers of care at Transfiguration Parish, who came to visit me and bring Communion, anointing and pastoral care nearly every day I was in the hospital. For that matter, everyone else at the parish, and anyone who said a prayer, lit a candle, or sent good thoughts my way when I was in the hospital. I believe that those had as much to do with my recovery as medical care.
I'm thankful for my family, who are always there, but never so much as when I was in the hospital.
I'm thankful for my job and the people I work with, who kept me in their thoughts and prayers while I was in the hospital, and were happy to have me back.
I'm thankful for the kitties, who provide me with endless hours of love and comic relief, even if they sometimes behave like bladders with fur.
And, of course, I'm thankful for my friends, both the ones I know in real life and the ones who I know only as an icon, email address or words on a computer screen. I'm glad you're my friends.