At least I don't have my health. (Canadian Thanksgiving)

I am thankful I feel so lonely today. Loneliness means I miss my 20 year-old marriage that is finally in its honeymoon stage.

I am thankful my husband is not at home today. His absence means he is away singing his heart out and living his dream.

I am thankful I never became a movie star. Failure means I found my way to my true passion. The stringing of words. The telling of story. The heartbreaking, ecstatic, hair-tearing exhilaration of writing a book. 

I am thankful I lost my kidneys at age 13. Chronic illness means I walk around with a piece of my mother and a piece of my husband inside me 24/7, 365 days of the year. And by piece, I mean, kidney.

I am thankful the virus I caught in March has flared up. I am thankful for my itching, burning and prickling skin. I am thankful I catch viruses, colds and infections easily. Discomfort reminds me that I have a suppressed immune system. And I have a suppressed immune system to keep Kevin's kidney inside of me. Which saves my life.

I am thankful for this morning's migraine. Pain reminds me that even I can still take my health for granted—like running water or the sunrise. And when the sun rises again, without a migraine or a virus or dialysis, the day can't get any better.

I am thankful I was once on dialysis. Suffering means I now know what hell on earth is. And that you can survive it.

I am thankful I am an alcoholic. Loss means I now know Daddy did not die because he was bad or weak. He was just sick. That he loved us, but the disease loved him more. Because I get to understand his torment in a way no-one else ever will. And just because he could not find his way back to us, does not mean he ever wanted to lose his way.

I am thankful I am a drug addict. My Death means I have found my way to my god at last.