Page 72 of Tameron

Shit, now she actually made me like her. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“It gets easier.”

“What does?”

“Both therapy and dealing with your new reality.”

The therapy part, I was willing to accept, but the new reality, not so much. What did she know about that? But then she gave me a sad smile. “After a viral infection a few years ago, I lost all sense of smell and taste. Permanently.”

My eyes widened. Oh fuck, to never be able to taste great food ever again? Or experience the delight of a cold beer after a long day of hard work. Never smell the ocean again or the lavender my mom put between the bed linens. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been heartbreaking.”

I truly meant it because I couldn’t even imagine.

“It was. My husband and I were wine lovers. Amateurs, but we loved trying new kinds. Now, I can’t even taste if something has alcohol in it. Everything tastes bland to me.”

So she did know what it was like. Shame filled me for assuming she wouldn’t. “At least with my hearing aids, I can still hear the lyrics to my favorite songs. Music doesn’t sound the same with hearing aids.”

She put a kind hand on my shoulder. “It’s not a competition of which disability sucks most. I just wanted you to know that everyone in this group knows what you’re going through… Including me. This is truly a safe space. I hope, over time, you’ll be able to open up here.”

I shuffled my feet. “I don’t do well with that. With opening up. I’m not a talker.”

“Well, it’s not exactly taught in the military, is it?”

I huffed out a laugh. “You can say that again. The motto was suck it up and drive on.”

“We’re here to help you unlearn some of those lessons.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze before letting go. “I’ll see you next week, Tameron. Remember, three things you’re grateful for every day.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I gathered my things and headed out, my mind reeling. As I stepped into the bright sunshine, I took a deep breath, letting the warm air fill my lungs. I could feel the tension in my shoulders easing just a bit.

I pulled out my phone and typed a quick text to Nash.

Group therapy wasn’t completely terrible. Don’t let it go to your head.

His response was almost immediate.

Told you so. Proud of you, T.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. Dammit, he was gonna be insufferable about this.

I pocketed my phone and started walking toward my car. As I did, I noticed a small patch of wildflowers growing in the cracks of the sidewalk. Their delicate purple and yellow petals seemed to be reaching toward the sun, a small burst of beauty amid the concrete jungle.

I paused, staring at them for a long moment. They were a reminder that life could still be beautiful, even in the most unexpected places. That even during pain and struggle, there was still something to be grateful for. Despite the odds, despite the harsh conditions, they had found a way to grow, to thrive.

They were survivors, just like me. Just like everyone in that group. We were all fighting our own battles, facing our ownchallenges, but we were still here. Still standing. Still growing, even in the most unlikely of places.

I smiled to myself as I continued walking. Maybe I could do this gratitude thing after all. That was one thing to be grateful for today: resilient weeds.

When I reached my car, I pulled out my phone again and opened a new Note. At the top, I typedGratitude Journal. Beneath it, I wrote:

Wildflowers in the sidewalk cracks.

Friends who give a shit, even when I’m an asshole.

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