Yesterday my husband pulled out a watercolor set that my mother had sent to him. Showing his independence on the 4th of July, he began to paint. This man, a man that I carried to the bathroom and fed like an infant two months ago, a man who could not speak or walk, is now painting with watercolors. To some, this might just be by chance. To me it is a miracle.
But following the miracle he had a terrible night, unable to sleep (among other things) which meant I did not sleep.
However, the miracle is in no way diminished by the night. Miracles never are.
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