A twenty-two year old young man just lost his fight to cancer. His mother mourns. A parent should never have to bury her child. I feel her suffering viscerally. And I give thanks because my own 20 year old boy is still alive.
I lost so many friends to AIDs. When my best friend was diagnosed HIV positive during her first ob visit for her first child, I thought I was going to lose another. Twenty years later, she is healthy and has two healthy children. I give thanks that the new medications arrived just in time for her and her family.
When hurricane Rita roared over the Texas Gulf coast, I watched the TV news and saw streets where I grew up covered in water and businesses where I had shopped blown away by the wind. An island which I called home for three years was submerged. My mother’s house was one of only two on her block that weathered the storm. I give thanks that she and her husband survived.
When the first building collapsed in New York City, my husband called me into the living room. I stared in disbelief at the television screen. Was anyone I knew in there? Was anyone I knew on one of the planes? Probably not, but when something like that happens your thoughts go instantly to the important things, the things you can not replace, friends, family, neighbors. And when you can finally reassure yourself that all those you hold dear are still safe, you give thanks.
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams
And our desires. Although she strews the leaves
Of sure obliteration on our paths,
The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love
Whispered a little out of tenderness,
She makes the willow shiver in the sun
For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze
Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.
She causes boys to pile new plums and pears
On disregarded plate.
Wallace Stevens Sunday Morning
http://cscs.umich.edu/~crshalizi/Poetry/Stevens/sunday_morning.html