Bless You

There is one thing I have said to my wife since the early days of our relationship.

Whenever she sneezes, I say:

“Bless you.”

To me, it was a tiny thing. Almost automatic.

But on our third wedding anniversary, my wife told me it was one of the caring behaviors she appreciated most about me. Whenever she heard bless you, she felt that I noticed her. She didn’t feel alone.

I never knew those two words meant that much.

Where I Learned It

Years ago, while studying for my master’s degree in the UK, I worked part-time at a car seat cover company.

One of my coworkers was Debbie, a British woman in her forties with a big smile and a big heart.

Whenever anyone in the office sneezed, Debbie immediately said:

Bless you.

After months together, we became so used to hearing it that nobody really noticed anymore.

Until one day Debbie was sick.

Someone sneezed.

Silence.

Something warm was missing from the office.

I think that was when bless you quietly became part of me.

At the Edge of Our Influence

I consider myself an atheist, but I take useful philosophy and wisdom wherever I find it.

Another place I learned about blessing was from American presidential speeches. After speaking about plans, actions and everything within their power, they can still end with:

God bless America.

I have always liked the humility in that.

I do not wish from the start. I act from the start. But at the end, I will wish as well.

Because after everything within our influence has been done, something will always remain outside it.

Bless You

I understood this differently on the hospital bed.

I followed my doctors’ instructions. I rested my body and mind. I did everything I knew to do.

And still, so much felt outside my control.

For once, I was the person seeking a blessing—from God, Buddha, the universe, energy, luck. You name it.

And I began thinking about the people I care about. There will be moments when they are facing something they never wanted and cannot control.

Maybe I can help them. Maybe I cannot.

Maybe, at that moment, they cannot even help themselves.

I don’t always have to have the solution.

Sometimes, when we have reached the edge of what either of us can do, there is still something I can offer:

I see you. I care about you. I wish something good for you.

Two simple words Debbie taught me many years ago became much more meaningful on a hospital bed.

Bless you.

Shaped from my audio journals with the help of an AI assistant.