One of my grief groups, a handful of months ago, passed around a dish of cheap, artificially-colored rocks. They were supposed to be pocket reminders of gratitude, some gimmick like that. It sounded silly, but I saw a purple-and-black one, one Mia would've picked, so I picked it for myself. The colors are mottled and it looks like a small, polished thumb, which, upon close inspection, has a chip right where the cuticle of the nail would be. When I remember, I carry it around it my pocket. But most of the time, it just sits on my desk.
The thing about grief is that it changes your thinking. You learn to let yourself bullshit yourself, even if you know it's bullshit - just because the bullshit thoughts are more helpful than your real ones. It's no bullshit. I've often thought myself fairly nihilistic: a believer in nothing in particular. But grief has me seeing the usefulness of a kind of faith. When I saw my gratitude stone sitting in the middle of the floor a few times in a short period of time: I decided it was a sign from my wife.
Was my wife physically reaching through the Aether and placing the stone down for me as a reminder of both herself and gratitude? Probably not. I have cats who knock crap over, as cats are wont to do. But it makes me feel good to think that it was a mystical harbinger from the Hinterland. It's kind of alike the grown-up version of playing pretend. I liked playing pretend as a kid. After seeing the stone on the ground, in roughly the same spot on numerous, consecutive occasions, I brought it to work in my pocket, and it made me happy. I need happy, folks. And I'm more than grateful to get my happy from a childish game. Grateful. That's...kind of like gratitude, huh?
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I hope you brought enough comment to share with the whole class!