I want to tell you about 10,000 moments. But I’m not sure how.
Each moment by itself would be too small to see. Too fleeting. Like snow flakes on the lawn. How could one moment be singled out for description, made more special than the others, emblematic? It wouldn’t do justice to the whole.
But to describe 10,000 moments skims over what each moment meant, the choice that was offered each time and the decision that was made each time. Without fail. Day after day. Year after year.
In the face of my increasing hearing loss in the past few years, my husband made the choice to be kind.
He was kind when he had to repeat himself dozens of times in a day. He was kind when we had to stop having our regular daytime phone conversations. He was kind when I misunderstood what other people said and embarrassed…
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