Moving On

24 Nov

    The other day I announced to my email list that I had started a blog. I received a message from a friend congratulating me on my “blob.” I laughed, but when I sat down to write today, I froze. I couldn’t decide what to write about. I felt like a blob, indeed, hands poised over the keyboard, waiting for the words to come. I felt I needed to write about Chuck’s stroke, therapy, recovery or how I coped with it. But I didn’t feel moved, so I pondered on it for a while. I think I understand, now.

     When Chuck had a stroke, it took over my life. However, six years have passed, and I have moved on. It’s now hard to recall much of the experience or my feelings during that time. The stress of that time blurred my memory of events. So how to proceed? Maybe this post should relate how I moved on, because I do remember a time when I thought I never would be able to. I was every bit a victim of stroke, albeit in a different way, as Chuck. While I would not describe myself as “happy,” exactly, I have found a level of contentment and fulfillment I never thought possible. Maybe I should describe how I got there.

     The first step, obviously, was to get through the crisis itself. Next was to get Chuck what he needed in terms of continued therapy, which absorbed most of my energy for the first year and was driven in part by my desire for his complete recovery. When I realized that was not possible, I then had to accept it, which was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I had to let go of the idea of Chuck as he was before the stroke, a very painful process because that was the prize I had been reaching toward, the finish line that had kept me in the race.

      I spent the next couple of years avoiding reality by moving, twice. We left our small town to move a small city, and then back again. I missed having access to my form of therapy: hiking in the woods, swimming in the lake, walking in the country. However, during our sojourn to the city I received some gifts I would not have otherwise. The first was yoga. The second was being able to be present for a dying friend. The last was rediscovering my love of writing, which has helped me redefine my identity. I started writing again, and five years later I wrote a book. I have a manuscript in progress and an idea for the next project simmering on the back burner.

     My point is that I had to actively seek contentment and fulfillment, not wait for them to find me. For a time, I lost myself in the role of caretaker and as a victim, ultimately not enough for me. I had to find myself, or more specifically the self I had become, and merge it with my new role as Chuck’s caretaker. The act of writing, or finding my voice, enabled me to move on while remaining in place.

    

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