Gratitude

It's an odd little ritual of mine; hardly worth noting. But I find great comfort in the sound of those little white pills sliding around in the bottle as he takes one every night. I picture that pill as a little soldier; off to kill the very thing I fear and let my husband's liver repair itself a bit.
Every pill is another day away from That Thing We Don't Talk About, even if it is always there in the back of my mind.
It seems almost ridiculous to worry. At his last Dr's appointment there was almost no trace of what's been slowly killing him since he was a child.
But I do anyway. I know, worry is something I'm very good at. But it's more than that.
This is temporary. We don't know how long this medication, new and improved though it may be, will work. We don't even know what the long term effects will be, new and improved as it is. All we have is this hope. All we have is a little relief from the worry we faced last year.
I'll take it.
We've had so many downs that even a temporary respite is a high.
We have so much to look forward to that I try not to dwell on what will come.
We have now. Then is out of our control. My gratitude is for now.
My gratitude is for whatever time those tiny white pills are buying us.
His skin looks good. No bit of yellow to make me wonder.
And I am grateful.
He snores when he sleeps so that the only way I can get him to stop is to poke a rib or pluck some chest hair (subtlety is not in my nature).
And I am grateful.
We argue over something stupid but I find it hard to be angry with him because I am just so damn grateful to be able to argue with him.