Strokes are so cruel. They take love and twist it. They take self, and diminish it. Stroke leaves us with the semblance of desired reality without the substance of our relationships. It’s a cruelty that can be invisible unless you live with it. it’s doubly cruel when the person knows they aren’t right inside and yet can’t fix it. All the memories and facts and knowledge are there but it’s inactive except during tv shows or brief encounters with strangers. With me, he’s just sad and wants to be somewhere else. We didn’t get to sell the GA house and take the money and fix this one, flip it, and move to the mountains. We got interrupted and stuck in Rocky Mount. I can make a home anyplace, out of anything. Steve doesn’t have that skill. All he sees is “it’s not the mountains’. I can’t move us without him and he’s not able either and he can’t stand it. This is not something that can go away or heal up and disappear. I’m sorry I make people sad or uncomfortable, I really am – I’ve even been told by a lifetime friend to only post the good stuff. She told me I was being vindictive by posting because I want others to suffer too. I’ve blocked her from seeing my posts to protect her. I’m sorry I’m different too. I wish this was like a broken bone where it would heal and be done and over. I wish SO MUCH.

Steve wants to be better. He wants to want to go on living. His mind that can’t work his arm and hand and leg and half his mouth says “What’s the point?” I have people I can talk to via an online support group. I have you guys. Steve doesn’t. There’s not a physical group close enough to go to, and he can’t manage one on his phone. HE HAS A PHONE. His family doesn’t call. His friends don’t call. Ken does, but Steve thinks it’s only about playing trivia. I can’t afford to drive us to Atlanta so Steve can play trivia and Steve thinks that’s the only reason you call. Please just call and chat with him. Somebody call and tell him how Shelby is doing. Sheila, Janah, he loves you guys. he’s outside the loop. He cried when your mama died. He cries when his friends and family hurt and there is nothing he can do. He can’t even leave a note on Facebook.He doesn’t think anyone loves him or misses him or needs him. Do you all get me and understand what I am saying? This stroke has fully isolated him. Do you really think a pill will fix how he looks at these things? Do you see why he wants to die? He walked the hall last night over and over crying to God “Please take me.”

Forgive my rant. this morning. I’m not trying to bring anyone down OR rip Steve a new one. That was not my intent. I want him to CENTER himself and find his emotional BALANCE. I want him to buck up and be STRONG like I have to be. I want him to see that I love him. I want him back. These meds are not good for anyone. I want him to to choose to be better so there is less strain on me. It just gets to me sometimes. He’s healthy. HE’S HEALTHY. He was supposed to take care of me – what a joke… another cruel residual of his stroke. It’s awful to know if he had someplace else to be he’d have the impetus to get better so he could leave. Not because he doesn’t love me. He just doesn’t want to be here. That’s what he has fixated on. I told him not to say it ever again. I don’t care. Unless he gets better, this is it. He should be thankful we have a house we can’t loose. I’m sorry his stuff is gone. I just went through the same heartache when kayla gave my things away. I cried off and on for a good long time. Then I went on and started replacing what is gone. I understand. He said no you don’t you can’t. You haven’t had a stroke. I said keep it up, you are making me sick too. He cried and I cried. He got up and dressed and we took the dogs out with us. He stayed in the car with them.

And tomorrow, G turns 21.

What a wonderful way to live. Right?

Thank you God…for not taking him. I swear I’ll try to find my joy and hold it close. The little things hold my sanity. The squirrels chasing whatever it is they chase, make me laugh. The dogs give me smiles. My knitting settles me. Thanking God holds me together. When I reach for my husband that hollow after stroke LOOK answers me, I turn my face away and cry and carry on.

And I guess that’s it… I told him to walk the circle and shake a leg. I laughed, he didn’t. He just got up and struggled on.