At night we sit together, him facing away. His eyes are closed but I know he still sees the windows and the busy street. We hear the cars rushing by, and the sirens ringing through the canyon buildings through our cracked window panes. The city sounds help me sleep and I am thankful for the noise of life.
"Tell me yours now," I ask him. "Count them for me."
He starts, and I hear the tired voice say simple sentences. "For the food - grocery shopping."
For this I am thankful too. We eat richly and wonderfully. It is grace.
"For tasty dinner tonight..."
"For a clean bicycle..."
His voice is growing heavy with sleep. I smile as he finishes.
"For my wife."
We are counting graces.
And to be here with him, who counts me as grace when I could never earn it or be it...well, I count that grace.