Great Gratitude.

My favorite artist often writes "Great Gratitude" in the corner of their messages. I like that phrase.

I didn't truly understand what he was feeling when he first started writing it back then. But now, I make a conscious effort to use it too. "Gratitude," and then, "Great Gratitude."

I wonder how many people can vividly remember the exact moment they felt truly grateful to someone. In my case, I think I learned it a bit late. It was when I was suffering from an eating disorder in my early twenties.

I couldn't eat anything, and my body was thin and frail. People around me treated me like I was fragile, making "talk of food" a taboo. That was when two of my best friends invited me out to lunch.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

While many people avoided the hassle and kept their distance, they remained completely "normal" with me. "Oh, I'm so grateful," I thought naturally. It was a soft emotion I had regained for the first time in a while, after having become so tense and sharp with myself and others, my heart as drained as my body.

Even now, I am endlessly grateful for their presence. And for the fact that they are still by my side, just as they always have been.

Perhaps it is because of that experience that I have become unconsciously aware of whether I am truly grateful from the bottom of my heart, or if I am just mouthing the words "thank you."

Especially since I started raising my child, I vividly remember every single "thank you" I have said.

The friend who first took me out to eat when I was overwhelmed by childcare. The friends who celebrated my son's birthday. The father who continues to cherish my son even after our divorce, and my current partner who cares for the big son who suddenly appeared in his life. My mother, who traveled from far away many times to support me when I had postpartum depression. My sister and her family, who took over all the chores at my parents' house in place of me, a busy single mother. The fellow moms who helped me when I became PTA president without knowing left from right. My junior high and high school teachers. The friends and seniors who play with my son. The company president and staff who have warmly watched over my son's growth.

There are so many "that thing from that time" moments that I am keenly aware of how blessed I am by those around me. The happiness that my son and I have now would not exist if even one of these connections were missing. I believe that our "miracle" happened within the accumulation of these precarious encounters and countless expressions of gratitude.

Looking back, there was a time when, due to my youth, I took "having someone do something for me" for granted. Because they were my parents, my friends, or my boss, I thought it was only natural. There were even times when I felt it was annoying.

However, raising a child is something that simply cannot be done alone. Parents are inevitably forced to learn how to say "help me."

But saying "help me" is never a bad thing. I want my son to know that, too. If that is the case, I have no choice but to show him through my own actions—by showing him myself saying "help me" and the warmth of someone reaching out a hand.

I hope that one day, my son will also become someone who can naturally reach out to help when someone else says "help me." I want him to live his life giving and receiving gratitude.

In the end, all we really have to rely on are these simple words: "thank you" and "gratitude."