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 my first entry, I froze. I couldn’t decide what to write about. I felt like a blob. I found it difficult to channel the experience, perhaps because it was difficult to relive.

I finally decided to make this entry about moving on, because at one time the thought was unimaginable. The stroke happened to me as well as to Chuck, and I thought I would never be happy again. However, I have managed to find a level of contentment and peace I never thought possible.

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 goal was not reachable, 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. DSCN1338_1_2.jpgThe process was very painful 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. We left our small town to move the city, and then back again. I missed having access the unfettered outdoors: hiking in the woods, swimming in the lake, walking in the country. However, during our “exile,” 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. I have I learned to find silver linings in the stormiest of clouds.

I also rediscovered my love of writing, which has helped me recover my identity. Garren Biz Card copyI began contributing to an award-winning wildlife magazine, and five years later, I wrote a book (The Chattooga River: A Natural and Cultural History) and published a manuscript, Stroke Happens.

51ZBPymvoMLMy 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 victim. I had to redefine myself, or more specifically inhabit the self I had become. The act of writing, or finding my voice, enabled me to move on while remaining in place. May everyone else in a caretaking role be able to do so, as well.

Best, Laura Ann Garren

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