I took a few minutes this afternoon to call Mom and Dad to see how they were doing. The in-home healthcare aide had just gone home, and Mom was fixing dinner. Mom put Dad on the phone, and he sounded GREAT!
It’s been over six months now since Dad’s stoke, and he’s still doing daily physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech therapy. But now both of my parents are encouraged by Dad’s progress. “He’s walking more.” Mom told me. “We’re dressing himself.” Dad said. His pronouns are still a mess, but his thoughts seem to be clear, and he feels much more confident in expressing them.
Dad and I talked about the gift that his stroke is. You see, along with all of the suffering that he and those of us who love him are experiencing, there is also a wonderful lesson in gratitude. No longer can I take for granted my ability to hop out of bed in the morning, to dress myself, to throw open the curtains to another sunny day. Each of these acts is a miracle.
“That’s lovely!” Dad told me when I shared this thought with him.
We signed off with a big “Shabbat shalom (Peaceful Sabbath)” as we do most Fridays.
