Day 242
Tonight, as fate would have it, I am at a loss for words. Very unlike me … I always have words. I can always talk. I can always write.
But, tonight, I am at a loss … and oddly, it makes me think of my aunt … who is never at a loss for words and it’s a shame, really, that she is not.
What an odd comment, I am assuming you are thinking.
More than twelve years ago my aunt had a debilitating stroke … I’ve mentioned her before in my writings. She was curling (the ice/stone sport) with her husband and friends and dropped – no warning.
It’s been a long road for her. Her life and everyone else’s in her family and those of her friends changed that day.
Last week I took Gertie to see her … to dispense some pug hugs. In all these years I don’t think I’ve been alone with her even once and before she even uttered a very labored, “Hi.” … she looked at me and said, “I hate my fortune.”
A glimpse:
Pre-stroke my aunt was an historian, gave tours of Chicago, was vivacious, had a contagious laugh, was aways talking, was fun and funny, talked with her hands so much one would think she was Italian, designed dinosaur tiles for her kitchen (but only allowed the nice dinos to adorn her walls) and was independent and active.
Post-stroke … after months and years of therapy she is practically strapped into a wheelchair. The right side of her body is useless, that eye looks to the ceiling. Her left arm is so spastic it is tied down at times; she cannot hold a pen or a spoon or hit a computer key with any precision. She has a full-time caretaker. She is fed. She is bathed. She is helped with everything that we take for granted on a daily basis. And though it’s difficult for her to communicate – her mind is sharp. She listens and she understands EVERYTHING.
Our genes run strong on that side of the family. She is her mother’s daughter … I share many of their same traits. Our shared commonalities include big laughs, limp hair, deep passion for anything we love, loyalty, commitment, the Italian hand thing, wide mouths, a love for dinos and the color gray, talking … oh yes, and our big knees.
Her speech, on a good day, is slow and labored and garbled so that it almost sounds like a record going at the wrong speed – slow motion. All too often I look at her and have to tell her I don’t understand … she shakes her head and starts all over again. It is heartbreaking. Her patience and determination are daunting.
So, when she said to me that she hated her fortune, it took all that was in me not to burst out crying because I hate it, too. She is a prisoner in her own body. I was thinking what she then asked me, “Why?”.
I don’t know why. Why are some people dealt horrible challenges in life? Why was someone, once so vibrant, knocked down? What kind of lesson is here? What good?
I don’t know. It’s one of those things that simply have me at a loss for words.