The Little Things

The hugs my kids come in and give me, because they know I’ll want them to, when they’re leaving early in the morning and I’m still sleeping. 

As I stand at the kitchen sink, in the cool morning air coming in through the window, the steam that curls up off of my coffee spoon after I’ve stirred my first cup. 

Sitting in the screened in back porch, listening to the rain fall outside in the dark, with the Tigers on quietly in the radio next to me. 

That moment right before a play, when the house lights dim and you know things are about to begin. 

The way our dog FlipFlop will walk around the house carrying as many socks in his mouth as he can find. 

That moment of excitement, despite the fact that I own all of them and could play them at any time, when one of Prince’s songs comes on the radio when I’m driving. 

Watching and listening to patrons file out after a play, hearing them excitedly share their favorite moments from the show, and knowing that we got them. 

The little conversations my wife has, in her sleep, to the people in her dreams. 

The text-message thread between my brother and sister and I that keeps me laughing every day. 

The little things, almost every day, that carry my thoughts back to the many, many alternate-reality-like dreams I had while in my coma. 

Late at night, the gentle susurrus, the murmuring of the wind through all of the trees in our yard. 

So many little things, every day, that it’s easy to forget about. So much time listening to the negative, or looking for the big event, when everyday is filled with things to be grateful for. 

The desire to recognize more of these moments each day. 

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