Recently, I was searching for a document.
It meant I had to look through stuff on the computer from before the strokes.
I read the way I joked with the gang.
I saw proof that I handled several large irons in my fire.
People chose me to lead the way (even when I had no idea where we were going).
I won’t be humble. I was smart. I was likable. I was quick. I made decisions and stuck by them.
There was written evidence of who I was before.
And for all the pride of accomplishment, and my feelings of being further today than yesterday.
What I wish for most was staring me in the face.
I cried at that person who was gone.
I liked being her.
I liked having two working legs and no wheelchair.
I liked being able to make plans for myself.
Not thinking about who is ok with seeing me shower.
I liked being the one that people trusted to get stuff done.
Not the one that people avoided or coddled because I’m damaged goods.
I’d go back if I could.
Change the way things happened.
Make it not occur if it were in my power.
Nothing will change.
Well, it’s changing little bit by little bit, and I’m learning to appreciate that.
It doesn’t mean when I close my eyes at night, I don’t pray for it all to be part of the same, long dream.
That I’ll wake from.