It's the little things. Disjointed posting.

I realize my stroke story is on the other blog... at some point I will move it over here.  I feel the need to document all the little differences of life post stroke.  I don't always remember all the details of this unchosen challenge I walk -- so it helps to write.
1. Yesterday was the downside of "compadres".  An old friend called and said her young sister had a massive stroke and died.  I was so sorry as this kind of loss is traumatic and she is one of the most caring, giving people I know (she is actually a hospital chaplain alongside teaching full-time).  But I got the feeling she was telling me since I was a stroke participant. I don't know what to say to that. There is good, mediocre, bad outcomes in life?  I am sure it was just to listen. And listening I can do.
2. Also yesterday morning I was upstairs rummaging through the cd cabinet looking for music.  I picked out a couple and carried them to my car.  As I was driving off I leaned over to pop one in the cd player--and, one of the cd's is not what I picked.  I only grabbed two cd's, that were a foot in  front of me.   I am still mildly amused when I make mistakes.  The thought is present.  The intent is there.  The action is completed.  But there is some detail that goes all wildcard on me.  Was it my hand faltering short when reaching? Was it my mind going elsewhere at the last minute so I did not focus on grabbing?  I remember noticing this cd, and thinking that it was very 80's, was that enough to send my brain reaching for it, rather than the one I wanted?  No memory. No idea.  But still fascinating.  When I have to rely on this brain to support me at a full-time job, we shall see how humored I feel.  But luckily, right now, I can enjoy the quixotic spasms of quirkiness.  Sometimes I think it is strange how (prestroke) competent, know-it-all, do-it-myself me has a stroke that has me accepting a) brazen mistakes, b) unknowing, c) help from friends.  

Compadres

We went up to Friday Harbor this weekend for a big pig BBQ.  Three people turned 60 this year, and there was a party, farm style.  Big tables laden with food, lots of LOTS of people, a couple kegs, boxed wine and lemonade.  This used to be my hometown, and why I moved the kids to Poulsbo... I thought it would be like growing up in Friday Harbor.  Alas, nothing is like the 70's and 80's on a seventeen mile long island in NW Washington! 


Courtesy Washington Land and Homes

A fellow I have known my since I was 5 walked up to me and said that we should talk.  He is a member of my honorary extended family but he and I never had much to talk of. Now we do. He said he had a hemorrhagic stroke 6 years ago. From there it went winding down that stroke story path. There are conversations I have had that go on between us stroke survivors that immediately go to the serious, open-hearted and supportive.  A comraderie that happens that you can only understand if you have had a stroke.  We know that we may be changed, and have different skills and abilities, but we are still ourselves.  We all faced that wall of fear, of undoing, and rebuilding.  The conversations that I have had remind me that we go to a horrible, horrible place and then we navigate how to live our lives beyond it.  Thanks, Kim.