In my last blog post I made a pretty strong statement, in a poorly written essay. I blame the bad writing on the voice-to-text software I use. Unfortunately, my mouth usually runs faster than my brain.
There is nothing wrong with my mouth.
The theme of the post was supposed to be moving on. After posting it I gave the matter some devoted thought. In actuality, every single morning when I am forced to paw through the bedcovers to find my left arm, I am taken back to the terrifying time right after my stroke.
I wonder if ever a day will go by without pondering those crazy days. Or asking the eternal “why?”
The only answer I can come up with is the one my beleaguered mom used quite frequently: “Because.” When I was younger, I thought she was avoiding the answer to whatever millionth question I asked. Now I know, sometimes the only answer to a question is:
In the words of my husband, Jack, a.k.a. Mr. No-Bad-Talking: “Dookie happens”.
Every day brings its challenges. Every day brings surprises. Every day brings recovery. Every day I wake up is a third chance at life.