Part of writing my story is that I have to rip the band-aid off the wound that was the strokes.
In all the days since my strokes, the truths I have shared and the little details of recovery that I allowed you to be part of have been pretty blunt. Yet, I have never gone all the way back and read Peter’s first posts.
I would go back to December 2009 and where my memory started to fade, I shut down, I quit reading. I blocked it out.
I could hear stories from friends.
Experience those missing days through the lips of others.
Part of the process of writing MY memories is understanding what I don’t remember.
I read the posts and the posts that were spawned from those that linked to more posts.
I read the comments. The ones from people I knew and from caring strangers.
I watched the videos people made for me.
I still have bags full of letters and cards and postcards and jokes.
It hurt to read what my family went through.
What I went through.
But it does something to me to read the words describing how people felt about their time with me. To know that they found their interaction with me as special as I found it. It was breathtaking.
There was the chance I might not make it. People gushed about me to Peter and the kids. Sort of a blog eulogy!
But I didn’t die.
I feel like saying “JUST KIDDING! WANTED TO SEE WHO WOULD SAY NICE THING ABOUT ME!”
So, moral to this story, kids, if you go into a coma make sure you have someone who will blog the experience. Those words may be your strongest tie to your past.