Euphoria

I thought I should write this before I forgot.  I heard on the radio today, a story about a man who was stabbed and almost died.  Instead of dying, he survived, and lived, euphoric at the prospect of being alive.  But then, after time, the euphoria faded.  

Enter into my mind again, the idea that so often does these days.  That my family, and the somewhat tenuous nature of family emotion and health, makes me more present, and grateful in life than I ever would be otherwise.      

There are tiny, high pitched voices in the background when I call home from work.  Hearing them always makes me smile, even if the voices happen to to be quibbling, or if I hear that one has pulled a fistful of hair from the other's head.  Even then, I imagine the one, teary eyed and downcast, perhaps crumpled and moaning and holding her head, while the other, the younger, stands, the newly extracted hair in hand, looking somewhat shocked at his little fist.  Unpleasant as it may be for Beebs, attempting to enforce peace and love at home, these little visions of child warfare still make me grin.  

And if at that, I jump to look at pictures of Beebs and the little voices on my computer at work, then how happy am I when I enter the house and Beebs is behind the counter smiling, and the little ones are charging at me, full speed, arms open wide?  It may only register in hindsight, but right now it seems like bliss.