When it hit me what the date was I took a deep breath. 3 years ago I had two stokes that nearly killed me. 3 years and I’m still alive.
3 years since the last time I walked. 3 years since since I picked up my phone with my right hand. 3 years since I gave someone my full big smile.
It’s been 3 years of this wheelchair. 3 years of handicap accessibility as a full-time job. 3 years of learning to type one-handed. 3 years of staring eyes and avoided gazes. 3 years of anger and shame and acceptace.
It’s been 3 years of perspective. 3 years of taking that high road no matter how rough the path. It’s been 3 years of valuing each precious hug and kiss for the gift they are. It’s been 3 years of making true friends not trophies. My children. There aren’t enough words to say what 3 more years with them has meant.
It’s been 3 years of learning to value myself. 3 years of taking pride in who I am and what I’ve done, not in spite of what happened, but because of it.