Six years ago today started with a sizzle.
Sadly, it was my brain that was frying. It’s the day I stroked out.
Few days go by without some reminder of my March Madness. It began months of craziness, confusion and fear. It really, really sucked.
But on this first Monday of Day Light Savings, I drink a solo toast, say thanks to whoever will listen and vow not to waste the time I now have with a well functioning brain. Well functioning by my standards, at least.
I’m often haunted by terrible memories when I think of stroking out. The confusion and fear of the first days was actually a pleasure compared to the fright that followed my earliest recovery. That’s when I was together enough to realize just how messed up I really was.
And that my shaky melon could keep me from meaningful work, make me forever dependent and cause me to fail my girls and my wife. Anna and Kristina were 13 and 16 when my brian buzzed. I felt they still needed me. And I wasn’t keen on the raw deal I was leaving my wife with, either.
Add guilt over what I was doing to my girls and Patricia to all of the other emotions.
But those bad memories aside, I’m also jazzed when I think of getting through those darkest months. That – with loads of help – I could get back to a meaningful life. That, while still unpublished, I’m writing the books I never penned pre-stroke. Every great experience feels like a bonus. Something I snatched back from the devil stroke.
So, with that, I’m going to make my toast, have my drink and put a little more into one of the books I hope will be on bookshelf soonish.