The other day my father had surgery on his sinuses. He has a dreadful infection, and a nerve in his sinuses may have died. He may never taste or smell again.
My father loves peach pie. He tried to eat some, and couldn’t finish. If you can’t taste or smell, peach pie is cold, tasteless glop with the texture of cold fish.
Dad is in bedridden, recovering, trying to get back to work too soon. But he’s got a great attitude. He’s truly grateful for his other senses, and that the illness he’s recovering from isn’t something worse.
That’s not something you could say for many people, that lying in their sickbed they found things to be genuinely grateful for.