8 years....

8 years ago at precisely this time it felt like everything I knew was falling apart. 

All day it has been on my mind. Like muscle memory. Didn't know what but knew something. I stayed busy today. As I have for the past 8 years, maybe longer. It's hard sometimes to sit with all our emotions. It's been 8 years since my dad had his stroke. 8 years since doctors said he would never walk again. 8 years since doctors said he would never talk again. 8 years since doctors said the best case scenario was that he learn to transfer from a bed to a wheel chair and back. 

I reflect back on that night. Not knowing if dad would pull through. Not knowing if they could get the swelling on his brain to go down. Now knowing if he would wake up. The unknown has always been terrifying to me. 

8 years since doctors said they have no explanation for his progress aside from saying its a miracle. Funny how sometimes what one person views as a miracle can be a complete detriment to another. I imagine my dad got sick of hearing how he was such a miracle because the miracle to us stripped him of his livelihood. This miracle took away everything he knew and quite literally has stopped him in his tracks. And yet I see how it has impacted so many others, one being my son. To see his love for everything neuroscience and neurology emerging is incredible. He asked a lot of questions of doctors and nurses the days following my dad's stroke. He has always been inquisitive.

Sometimes people ask if there is anything you could change would you? I always had that cliché answer that I wouldn't because I wouldn't be where I was if it weren't for everything I had been through. But the truth of the matter is if I could turn back time I'd want the stroke to not be part of my dad's story, part of my families story. No part of it seems fair. My feeble mind could never begin to comprehend God's plan or purpose in this stroke. Some days I feel like I've been cheated out of time with my dad. 

Don't miss interpret what I'm saying. I do see many good things that have come from this. My dad is alive today. Ambiguous loss is real and difficult to navigate, but he is still physically present. Seeing my dad relearn everything in therapy the weeks following his stroke made me realize all the little things we take for granted....everything from brushing our teeth to getting dressed to using the bathroom. The ability to walk, to express what is on our mind, to go to the store, to cut the yard, to open an envelope....to identify letters and the words they form. I watched my dad fight to gain back so many skills and abilities that I probably still take for granted. 

Every 30 seconds someone in the United States has a stroke. Every 3 minutes and 14 seconds someone dies of a stroke. I thank God my dad was not part of the later statistic. It isn't lost on me where he was or how far he has come or the blessings and favor we have felt thus far. 

8 years....sometimes it feels like its been a lifetime...

not again...

Today started like any other day.  

It ended a bit different....but not really

Its a familiar different...

but one that you never really want much knowledge of.

12:25 this afternoon I picked my sister up to go car shopping.  She is in the market for her first new car, and I have been known to get some good car deals...so good that the guy who sold me my car 3 years ago, remembered me! Not sure that was a good thing for my sister....

12:27 this afternoon her phone rang - her husband at the other end - we had just left him at the house... 'dads having a seizure'......we turned the car around and went back home.  I thought to myself, I guess its good that I was late to pick her up, so that we were not far away.  He tried the magnet for my dads VNS and it didn't stop it.....his entire body continued to shake....he was looking up and to the right...called rescue...waited....seemed like he quit shaking a little so we started singing, 'you are my sunshine'....he started singing in between seizures...getting him out the door proved challenging and the paramedics probably didn't like me telling them how to do their job - I'm just a worried daughter and hopefully they didn't take it personally. Thank God for emergency rescue personnel, EMT's and paramedics. 

Then came the hurdle of getting him stable enough to be transported to Mayo...that isn't the closest hospital to our house but it is the one who has seen him and treated him since November of 2015 when he had his stroke. Felt like time stood still while we waited to hear where they would take him.  Most of the time I find myself wishing time would slow down...but in that moment I just wanted them to get on their way and get him to the hospital. He was cleared for transport to Mayo.  Thank God for enough stabilizing that he could be transported to Mayo Hospital.

We left and as we approached the end of the street we saw the ambulance come up behind us.  I have always been one to yield to emergency services, thinking I would want somebody to do that if my loved one was being transported....and then before our very eyes as we sat at the intersection we watched the ambulance make it through safely while everybody stopped.  It sucks knowing that somebody you love is in that ambulance.  I cringe every time I hear a siren.  If an ambulance has been anywhere near our street I have to check the number.  72 is the one that always comes for dad.  Thank God for drivers who pull over when an ambulance is approaching.

We made it to the hospital before the ambulance did.  Noticed Mayo Emergency Room is undergoing some construction.  That is new since dads last seizure episode. I wonder what they are doing, are they expanding?  If only the walls of this place could talk...I think of the stories held within these rooms....how we have known quite a few of the rooms in the ER department and most of the rooms on the 5th floor. Seemed to take a while for anybody to go back and see him...minutes felt like hours as we eagerly waited to see him....because that is how we humans are wired - we need to see ....Thank God for the Mayo ER staff who took care of my dad.

At the end of the day...mom and dad are spending the night at a non profit academic medical center focused on integrated clinical practice, education and research.....in other words, Mayo Clinic.  We all stand a bit shaken but no worse for our wear. We are still standing.  In some ways I suppose trials make us stronger, odd thing is how weak they leave us feeling in the moment. But then I wonder is it weakness we feel or a sense of powerlessness?  To see somebody you love in a state that you can do nothing about?  Yeah, maybe thats it - maybe its not weakness we feel but a humble reminder of the fact that we are not in control, some things we must endure are beyond our ability to fix or change...  We have hope for this trial, that all will end well... because we have endured similar tests in the past.  So I guess that is something to be grateful for. I find myself feeling a great deal of anger and asking why, though I know my feeble mind is not capable of comprehending the 'whys' to what we have to endure this side of eternity.  Funny how even though I know my mind can't comprehend the why, I still want to know why...as if knowing why would make anything better?  I know God is a big God and He can handle my anger, I just have a hard time comprehending how this can be used for good. I'm grateful my dad is still here and that God isn't finished with him, I just don't understand why good people must endure such difficult paths in life. It's hard to trust God through all this, but I know we must. I know His plan is a good plan (even when it doesn't feel good) , that He can see the bigger picture (when all we can see is whats happening right now), that this pain has purpose in each of our lives... but when these difficult days strike it sure is hard to keep all that in mind.... To my family - a song of encouragement - Trust In You....

"Have I not commanded you?  Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."  Joshua 1:9

̶3̶3̶ years...

....or is it 34 years? 

(inside joke!)

On this day 33 years ago my mom and dad got married. 

December 8, 1984

They have had their share of ups and downs. 

Endured hardships.

and times of plenty.

Silent treatments.

Date nights.

Four children.

Seven dogs.

A hamster.

A miraculous goldfish.

Bearded Dragon.

Two additions to the house.

Dad takes hammer to kitchen cabinets.

Completely remodeled kitchen is the result.

Playing in the backyard.

Working hard.

Putting us kids first.

30 some odd cars that dad has had

Family vacations.

Ocean City.

Maryland.

New York.

Wisconsin.

South Carolina.

Look out mountain.

Rolling down hills in Wisconsin.

The carnival where I won a fish.

(And it died before we made it home)

Family dinner.

Pops bypass surgery.

loss of loved ones

cancer

depression

anxiety

afib

stroke

seizures

graduations

new life 

grandchildren

Neighbors

mechanic

yard man

bank teller

bus driver

teacher

father

mother

brother

sister

son

daughter

long days

even longer nights

playing dress up and coloring

watching tball games 

cheering at softball games

dr. hahn

pain 

heartache

joy

peace

healing

home videos

times gone by

times to come

loving in the moment.

no promise of tomorrow

a love that has stood the test of time

one that has been magnified these past 2 years

I've heard my parents argue and I've seen them come back together and move forward. I've seen them get creative to make ends meet. I've felt how much they care for us kids. I know they love each other. I just never knew exactly how much until I watched them endure something tragic. I've watched my mom and dad stand beside each other through a number of trials.  

 I took dad out this afternoon to pick out a card and a single rose.  See when he was cutting yards for his elderly friends he would tell them about his anniversary and they would tell him to go cut a rose out of their garden.  Dad seemed to be about the simple, thoughtful things....at least that is what I remember. He had to settle with going and buying a single rose. I think my mom was surprised.

I'm glad that my mom and dad got married and that they have stuck together no matter what hurdles have come their way.  an everlasting love.  

(on a side note---look at the symmetry in dads smile! this picture was taken today, the one below was from December 20, 2015 almost two years ago...In the picture above, from today, he is walking....the one below he was still in a wheelchair...our God is an awesome God!)

This time last week....

I was playing a game on the computer.  My cell phone started ringing.  I thought it was my brother to discuss plans to help my grandfather over the coming days. I didn't answer the phone, I was in a competitive game. The phone rang again, they never left a message, must not be important...when the phone rang for the third time I answered...."Rachel, Dad is having seizures again, paramedics are trying to get him loaded up now."  I opened my front door - this is what I saw.  Every time I hear sirens come down our street, I panic, I rush to the front of the house and in my head I repeat, 'just keep going, just keep going.' A few times, they have stopped at my parents house and when they do, followed by the 'just keep going' is 'oh no they stopped.' Sometimes I don't even make it to the door when I see the reflection of the lights through my front door.  This time they did not have sirens on, but the panic was still the same.  This will never become any easier to see. 

Like every other time, I sprinted down to the house. I must say if I could channel that into some race, I am sure I would win. This time when I left the house I didn't have shoes on, my feet ended up bruised and scraped but the pain didn't phase me. Got down to the house to see the paramedics struggling to get dad on the stretcher.  He was still having seizures. That also will never become any easier to see 

 He was telling us that he wanted to die in between massively seizing. He was taken to Mayo, and I think about an hour after the seizures originally started, and with medication from the ER, he was not having seizures but was also not very alert. It would come and go. Seizures leave him completely drained and weak.  There are still certain little neuro tests they do to just keep tabs on him.  Concerned over his lack of response, the following morning he was sent for a CT Scan.  No new brain damage...always a relief.  Who would have thought that, 'no new brain damage,' would be a "relief." He had some seizures throughout the night while he was being monitored at Mayo. Mom didn't leave his side. 

As we got more results and news from the doctors about how to once again tweak his medications, mom decided to go to work the following day.  I told her I would go up and sit with him. It felt like old times.  An odd, but familiar; uncomfortable but comfortable setting.  I ordered him his typical Mayo Breakfast and a few smoothies, is it sad that I pretty much know the menu? Doctors made their rounds and with the new medication on board, Dad was improving.  I left him rest in the morning but when I saw the doctors down the hall I told him he had to be alert and answer their questions if he wanted to get home. When they came in he was awake and answered their questions and they said they felt he could go home, just have somebody with him for support and what not while he builds strength back up.  This is the picture right after the doctors had left the room, he just kept saying, "I'm going home" and had a big smile on his face. He asked me to text this picture to my mom. He was impressed with how symmetrical his smile was!

So at precisely this time last week we were just hoping the seizures would stop.  We were taking turns going back to see him in the ER as you are only allowed 2 visitors at a time.  We may have bent that rule a few times. We were keeping each other company in the waiting room while others of us went back to check on him. Just being there for each other during a time when we were uncertain about how things would turn out. It seems dad goes through the ringer with these seizures, just about every other month. I don't know how he finds the strength to keep going.  Oh wait, I know...mom is standing beside him every step of the way and refusing to let him give up!  I love their love for one another. 

I hate everything he has been through. It doesn't seem fair. It scares me and makes me angry at times but yet it also serves as a sobering reminder of the fact that this fallen world is not our home. There are days that his physical body has left him feeling so discouraged and let down.  I remind him that he is still the same on the inside. 

Don't hesitate to reach out to somebody. 

You just might be the encouragement they need to keep going.

not again....

"Not again..." that is all I could think as I felt my heart sink to the pit of my stomach when my mom called me last night to tell me that my dad had another stroke.  All I had to compare it to was what his first stroke was like - a terrifying and miraculous journey that strengthened our family as it tore apart everything we knew and loved about a man who we thought was indestructible....a man who always took on the world, and now this world threatened to take him.  

Everything changed that day.  Everything continues to change. It truly is the only constant. Some days I find myself wishing there was some way to go back to the 3 months prior to the stroke, when he was happy, when he would call me to tell me he was proud of me, when he would open the door and say welcome to the jungle to my boys.  I am grateful that he is still here but there are days that I miss him terribly.  

I never thought I would be thanking God for a small stroke.  Today I was doing just that. I didn't know what to expect when I went to see him today.  I was happy to see him stand and move his legs and talk. They have been running tests all day to figure out the fine details and we really don't know much more at this point, other than it was another stroke. He had all the nurses laughing.  The therapists who were working on the floor today, many of them came by and what they said all sounded the same, "when we saw your name we had to stop by and see you."  They complimented him on his progress and how well his speech has come along. It's not really a place you want familiarity but yet that familiarity is strangely comforting. Here we are trying to figure out this stroke and get our feet under us and here they are in awe of how far he has come along, even including the weakness this stroke has brought on. Talk about perspective?!?! 

Two weeks ago he was in the hospital with seizures. Anytime I see an ambulance go by I panic, run to the front window and when I see them slow down at my parents house I say, 'no, no, no, just keep going'....Even though the ambulance has been to my parents house a number of times, it never gets easier to see....now my panic has spread and when we are out and about if I see an ambulance leaving our street I call mom to make sure its not for dad.  The odd thing is I did just that Sunday morning and Sunday evening they had to take him to the ER.  Thankful that he alerted them of the need to be checked out.  Thankful it wasn't four hours later when he would have been in bed asleep. Thankful for medications that can break the clot and give him a much faster turn around. 

Tomorrow is Valentines Day.  It is not a day that I like.  Love is about so much more than flowers and stuffed animals and chocolates.  I guess that stuff is nice but to me it looks like superficial love. A way for people to show the world how much they love you when love is such an intimate private thing, something that should be conveyed more than once a year in kind deeds, soft words, showing up, helping with laundry, spending time with one another. True love, that is what I see when I watch my mom sit beside my dad and hold his hand as he wakes up the day after his second stroke. True love is what I hear when my mom says, "His right side was not moving at all last night and my heart was breaking all over again, I felt like we were starting over."  True love is what  I see when I watch my mom push on every day when life is so different now.  True love is what I see when I watch her look at my dad and still see his beautiful soul and amazing spirit, unchanged by what the world has done to his physical body.  True love is what I see when I watch my dad look at my mom, and even with the inability to find the words.... he speaks volumes about his love for her when you see the peace in his eyes as he looks to her for comfort. In sickness and in health....when its not always fun or comfortable or easy....they live a great example of what it looks like to love one another against and in spite of all odds. I have so much respect for people who lead by example.  Words can be empty shells of promises and good ideas, but seeing it in real life, before my very eyes -- brings with it lessons that will be ingrained in me forever. Love unconditionally. Love what you can't see. Respect one another. Never give up. No matter what, you stand beside the one you love. 

I will be incredibly honest here and say that no part of this feels very fair.  I know we are walking this path for a reason but it sure is exhausting at times.  Today I was able to be there for a stranger in a unique way, who knows if our paths would have crossed if it weren't for my dad having this stroke.  I guess I was where God needed me to be, even if it was not where I wanted to be. That is always a difficult pill to swallow.  

Something good will come from this.  

In the mean time -- for my family -- listen to this song....

Oh what a year...

What makes you go back and reflect on the previous year?

Is it a certain date on the calendar?

Is it New Years Eve?

The end of the year?

The dawning of a new year?

A fresh start?

Is it when you move to a new town?

Start a new job?

  Is it your birthday?  

Is it the holidays?  

Is is the empty place in your heart of loved ones who have gone on before us?  

Is it a reminder on Facebook?  

Does it come in flashbacks?

Does it come at the sight of certain buildings?

Certain people?

 A specific time?

I think deeply and carefully about many different things that have happened, especially those of great significance or value. An important moment can be one loosely defined by either unpleasant memories or desirable moments. Some memories we approve of while others we view as inferior. Both hold their place in this journey called life that we are traveling on. Every experience holds some kind of value and creates memories that become seared into our brains.

Today is November 21, 2016

There are a few famous birthdays on the 21st.

It is World Television Day.

It is World Hello Day.

To you it may just be another day.

To me it is a day that changed my life.

This day causes me to reflect back on the past year.

It  marks one year since my dad had a stroke.  

A severe ischemic stroke that would leave roughly half of his brain damaged.

A stroke that would threaten to take my dad from this earth.

A stroke that doctors said would leave him severely paralyzed on the entire right side.

A stroke that doctors said would leave him without words for at least a year.

A stroke that would take his ability to walk.

A stroke that would take his ability to talk.

A stroke that would take his ability to read.

A stroke that would take his ability to write.

A stroke that would take his ability to swallow.

A stroke that would cause the pressure in his brain to rise to dangerous levels.

A stroke that would take part of his skull out.

A stroke that warned us of a blood clot in his arm.

A stroke that would bring on many therapy sessions.

A stroke that would take his independence away.

A stroke that would take his hope.

A stroke that would bring new people into our lives.

A stroke that would show us who was there for us when we needed them.

A stroke that brought out the kindness in others, be it texts, phone calls, thanksgiving dinner in the ICU waiting room, cookies at Christmas time to Brooks,  snacks during surgeries, prayers, prayers and more prayers.

A stroke that would land us in a rehabilitation hospital for 21 days.

A stroke that changed how we celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas of 2015.

A stroke that changed the way we viewed the world.

A stroke that left us all a little more fearful.

 A stroke that left us all very grateful.

A stroke that left us sad.

A stroke that brought on many questions and tears.

A stroke that brought confusion and frustration.

A stroke that made us question God's plan.

A stroke that caused us all to research ways we could help.

A stroke that would bring another invisible challenge into our lives - Aphasia.

A stroke that didn't leave much hope for a happy ending.

A stroke that brought epilepsy and hospitalizations for seizures.

A stroke that didn't follow the typical recovery.

A stroke that provided hope and encouragement to strangers.

A stroke that brought us all closer together as a family.

A stroke that showed us kids what true love looks like.

A stroke that made us slow down.

A stroke that made us look around and find the good when we feared the worst.

A stroke that made us see things more clearly despite the cloudy days.

A stroke that made us listen with our hearts to what our ears could not hear.

It was never really about the stroke, but about the man who overcame the stroke.  The man who defied all odds, the man who started saying words less than a month after the stroke that would render him without words for 'a year' (so doctors said), a man who walks when all doctors hoped was that he would learn how to transfer between a wheelchair and bed.....it is also about the family that stood behind him....that refuses to give up, that loves without limits and beyond the frustrations of life. 

A man who has defied all odds because of a God who loves impossible odds.

God is bigger and more powerful than any problem we face in this world.

"God is in the business of strategically positioning us in the right place at the right time.  But the right place often seems like the wrong place, and the right times often feels like the wrong time." Mark Batterson

 My keyboard has become slick from the tears that have fallen on to it while typing this blog, and thinking about the moments behind the words above.  Grab some tissue and watch the video below....it starts the night of November 21, 2015....and brings you up to today....

Hold on....

I'm confused.

I don't get it.

Life just doesn't seem fair.

We live in a backwards world.

I'm sad.

I'm angry.

Why?

Why do good people have to endure such difficult paths?

I would give anything to rewind the clock one year and one month and then freeze it.  Live 13 months ago as if we were trapped in that groundhogs day movie where the guy wakes up to live the same day over and over again....I hate how my dads stroke has drastically changed life as we know it.  I miss him.  I love him and I am grateful that he is still here, but I also struggle with change and its been hard for me when thinking about the finality of chapters of our life.  When Sears closed it was like an in my face reminder that things will NEVER be how they were, and that stings sometimes. I knew then it was not possible to ever go back to how things were. I would give anything to take all this from him.  He has endured so much and none of this seems fair. What is God's purpose in this? 

  Around 3:45 this afternoon, an anxious feeling took over me.  I couldn't sit still, I kept telling my husband that something bad was happening.  I just didn't know what.  He told me to take my shoes off and relax. Then I heard a siren and asked him if hearing that made him feel worried, he replied with, "No, it is just a siren.  Take your shoes off and relax."  Then the siren got closer, I went and looked out the front door and remember saying, "No, just keep going."  They stopped at my parents house.  I put on some flip flops and sprinted down there....was on the floor with him talking to him while paramedics did there thing and waited for an ambulance. It's no way you ever want to see one of your parents. It's odd how the way I was feeling coincided with what was about to happen. This afternoon my dad collapsed in the bathroom.  My brother and uncle heard the thud and went running.  It seems he had a seizure, possibly hit his head on the way down.

Walking into the ER and seeing him so still and so out of it - it is scary. 

Last time he was having seizures he stayed in an ER room and was able to go home in 8 or 9 hours.  This time he was admitted to the hospital.  The ER guy was telling us how to get to the main hospital, we politely told him we could handle it, we are a little too familiar with this place. My dad didn't seem to be bouncing back as quick as he did last time.  It seems every time he has had these they have been slightly different, and never short lived.  Usually takes some heavy medications to get him to stop seizing.  His blood pressure and pulse were a little off when we left tonight.  He was all hooked up to the EEG to monitor brain activity and also on oxygen. They say he shouldn't be having these seizure with the amount of meds he is on to help prevent them.

He wasn't awake when we left tonight.  

He wasn't responding to us when we talked to him...but he is still alive.  

Good night dad, hoping with some rest you will wake up recharged and ready to get home and back to 'normal'....whatever that is?!?!?

"Hold on, if you feel like letting go....hold on, it gets better than you know..."

Another hurdle?

August 27th, well technically August 28th landed us back in the Emergency Room at Mayo Clinic. Just before 2:30 a.m my mom was awoken by her entire bed shaking.  Her first thought was it was my dad rocking himself back and forth to get up and go to the bathroom.  After a series of questions, she determined he was having another seizure.  It has been almost 2 months to the date since his last seizure. 

Around 2:35 a.m I woke up to go to the bathroom. I thought I saw red flashing lights coming through the windows in the living room. Half asleep, I thought maybe I was just dreaming, I went to the bathroom and then went and looked out the front door.  And perhaps the one thing you never want to see is the ambulance and fire truck parked outside your parents house. I woke Dennis up and told him the ambulance was at my parents house and I would be back. When I walked out the front door I saw somebody on the stretcher and they were pushing him through the front door. By the time they reached the end of the ramp and loaded him into the back of the ambulance, I was walking in the front door.  The paramedics might have thought I was a lunatic or something, running down the sidewalk and then peering into the back of the ambulance to see if it was mom or dad.  I walked in, they filled me in, my brother and mom went in one vehicle and my sister and I went in another, and like old times, we f-l-e-w to Mayo Hospital.  We arrived before he did.  

I started pacing outside the hospital waiting to see when the ambulance arrived.

They said that mom could go back and see him.  She was back there for what felt like a really long time.  The Emergency Room at Mayo Clinic was pretty empty at 3 a.m. on a Sunday morning. We couldn't people watch. We couldn't imagine what others were there for. Thank God for my brother and sister and our ability to keep each other distracted while we waited for those automatic doors to open and some update on my dad.

Eventually they did. 3:48 a.m to be exact. The message was simple, 'one of you can come back and try to talk to him, we need to get him alert, he is still having seizures.' Vanessa went first, she returned and told me to go try.  I walked in and said, "Hey Dad, what are you doing here? You should be in bed sleeping." His eyes started to open.  The nurse was happy and told us to keep talking to him and keep reminding him to breathe, They were concerned because his heart rate was still rather elevated and his respiration was low. 

"Hey Dad I need to see your eyes.  Show me you are ok."

"Dad I need you to take a deep breath. Please keep breathing for me."

"Breath in. Breath out."

"Dad, you have done more before 5 a.m than some people do all day!" (I got a little smirk)

This is something he used to say on days he would go cut three yards and be to work by 10 in the morning, he would always joke about doing more before noon than some people do all day.

Mom started singing songs with him.  

And just like when I was little, they were singing "You Are My Sunshine"  

The nurse was so grateful that we kept talking to him and that we were able to keep him more alert. His heart rate lowered, the seizures stopped... mom went to get my brother. Finally we could all be with him.  He was alert.  He was answering questions. He was bouncing back a lot faster than he ever has. He bounced back so quick this time, they didn't have to admit him!

A good scare, showed us all that our heart is still working. Brought perspectives back into focus. Today he was singing "You Are My Sunshine" and I must say it sounds a lot better than when he was singing it at 4 in the morning.  Stay tuned for another blog with that video...

We aren't guaranteed anything in this life.

Share pain.

Share joy.

Share love.

Share hope.

Share happiness.

Share a good laugh.

Share time. 

Live. Love. Forgive. Hope. Pray. Encourage. Reach out. Care.

Reflections

I thought about reactivating my facebook account.  I miss the daily reminder of what happened 'on this day' so many years ago.  It shows me how much I forget but it also helps me to remember. Thinking about that made me think about an afternoon last week when my dad was discouraged.  We pulled up my blog and showed him videos of when he could not even move his right toes, much less walk or dress himself or go to the bathroom on his own, when he couldn't swallow, when part of his skull was missing, when he stood for the first time, spoke for the first time, etc. I think sometimes people don't realize the magnitude of just how much his stroke has changed our lives. There were many people praying for him and for that I am grateful, but every day life as we knew it 8 months ago is so different now. I am grateful that he is still here but there is also a degree of grief as we mourn what we have lost from the stroke.  I think some of us are just coming to terms with this concept. Even my dad is mourning what he has lost from this stroke. This "miracle" has left him unable to live normally. While it has affected all of our lives, we can see the miracle from the outside a lot more than he can feel it from the inside. Some days are better than others, that is everybodys fate I suppose. It was nice to provide encouragement to my dad.  It left me thinking about how neat it would be to have somebody record different times of my life and then later when I am discouraged, they could give me a link to a time when I couldn't do then what I am doing now. There is no highlight reel in life.  People often put the best face out there but underneath it all they are dealing with a task or situation that tests their abilities. 

I guess these pictures attempt to paint an outward display of what it looks like when you look back over a more trying time of your life.  In the first picture he was watching as he just started to move his toes, and only with a lot of concentration.  The second picture is him looking back at a picture from shortly after a piece of his skull was removed, but because of the amount of swelling you wouldn't even know it was missing. 

We had a family cook out on Saturday July 2nd .  Grandma and Pop didn't want to be on the road on the fourth of July.  We ate, we talked, we sang. Singing comes easier for my dad.  After watching the video of him singing on Saturday I decided to pull up the video of him singing back in December.  I couldn't believe how much his voice has improved and how much of the right side of his face has come back. 

This is my dad singing back in December. 

    

Here is a video of my dad singing on July 2.  You can see how much more he can move the right side of his face and you can hear how his voice has come back. He sings the same song from above, just a little later in the following video.

Some days...

Some days, life is hard.

My sister showed up on my doorstep last night, 

and in a matter of seconds I felt like it was some twisted de-ja vu from, 

well 7 months ago to the day.

"Hey Rachel, has mom gotten ahold of you?"  

"No Becca, whats up?"

"Oh, well, something is wrong with dad, they are on their way to the ER..."

And almost as a repeat from that Saturday morning that rocked our worlds, I closed the door, started crying, dried my tears, got dressed and....

...I made it from my house to Mayo Hospital in about 11 minutes...

I walked in to see my mom and brother and sister, all teary eyed and crying.  All my mom could say was, "they think its another stroke, he is having a ct scan done now."

I didn't want to believe what she was saying.  No way, why dad?  Hasn't he been through enough? Why would God allow this?  If He didn't cause it, He will redeem it for some good, but WHY?  Perhaps ours isn't the place to ask why...it is hard not to wonder though.  How is it that the good get what the bad deserve and the bad seem to get what the good deserve?  No part of this seems fair. Why another set back?  He has fought so hard to regain some semblance of life, even though its far from what he wants.  How will this change things?  I hate change.  Will he be able to walk?  Will he be able to swallow?  Will he be able to communicate with us at all?  No, no, no....my mind is a dangerous place, rapid thinking is my specialty, and it can be exhausting.  My entire body was shaking from the possibilities of what could happen and how this could just totally change this new normal that we have all been working really hard to learn and to live.  But we will not ever give up on him, my parents have instilled in us the importance of being there for your family and never giving up on them.  I think I tend to extend this to those I care about as well.

When I looked back over my pictures, I have a love/hate feeling going on when I see the one I posted of my mom standing beside my dad.  I hate it because they were still working to get his seizures to stop and they were coming in every few minutes to call his name and check his eyes and check his vitals.  A nurse was in the ER room with him the entire time.  I hate that this shows a setback for my dad. BUT I love how this is such a raw example of true love. It isn't always easy and it isn't always pretty, in fact I don't know that true love is ever easy...but it remains.  It stands the test of time and circumstance and challenge and heartache...and yet it remains. This to me is a pretty strong visual representation of their reliable, constant love for one another.  He refuses to let go, she continues to hold him up, even when she barely has the strength to stand on her own. I've seen my dad support our family and now I see my mom support our family.  We wouldn't be who we are today without both of them.  I am incredibly grateful for the example they set to not give up on those you love, no matter what.  This world has changed my dad and his body and his language skills and his ability to function like he once did, but it hasn't changed his love for my mom.  This world has changed my mom, it has taken parts of my dad that she misses terribly but it has not changed her love for him.  Theres is a true example of how beauty fades and this body is temporary, but true love...nothing shakes that.

Ok, sorry about that tangent, now back to last night....

Mom got up to go back and see if dad was back from ct scan.  That left me and my brother and my sisters in the ER waiting room.  I will say one nice thing about being the oldest of four children is that when something is going on, we do have some built in support in each other.  I am grateful that when times are tough, we know how to pull together and stand strong for each other and our parents. I got a text from mom that one of us could come back...I pulled the oldest child card and went back first....

What a huge sigh of relief to find that he was having seizures again. That there was no new brain damage.

Funny how life changes us, this time last year I would have never felt relieved that he was 'just having seizures'... They started IV meds to stop the seizures, so now it was just a matter of time.  That indefinite progress of existence when you are waiting for something unpleasant to come to an end, feels like an eternity. This time the seizures presented differently than they did last time. You start going back in your mind to different instances over the past few days and wondering if, 'when that happened was he having a seizure?'  It could have been some medication issues, it could have been a fall last week, it could have been when he hit is head, it could have been the antibiotics and the infection, it could have been....and at some point you settle with the fact that you don't really know what caused it....hey maybe this time he will get more of his right side back.  Maybe it is just the brain jump starting those parts that have not been used for 7 months. 

While we wait for him to get the ok to return home, he gets to stay hooked up to the EEG for 24 hours.  He has had seizure meds pumped into him via IV since he has been in the hospital.  We have gotten to have a mini reunion with the doctors and nurses who all remember him.  This morning while hanging out with him, I heard doctors and nurses and therapists comment on how much he has improved and how he is doing an amazing job, how they remembered him and remembered our family.  We have a special connection with the 5th floor of Mayo Hospital, their responses all seem to be the same, "Hey, its so good to see you all....well not under these circumstances though."

We delivered breakfast to my mom this morning and Seth provided some stress relief when he asked her to build one of his Lego sets he got for his birthday.  While I strongly dislike how things are right now, I am grateful for the opportunity to show the boys a real life example of what it looks like to be there for those you love and care about, no matter what.  Our world doesn't seem to understand the importance of reaching out - a text, an email, a phone call, breakfast, a card in the mail, lunch, a Lego set, it doesn't take much to let others know you are thinking about them and care for them.  Sometimes it hurts to reach out to others because I feel their pain, but yet I can't imagine not being there for somebody because my pain gets in the way. 

  

It's weird but Mayo has provided some deep seated tranquility in my life. Familiarity. I never thought I would hear myself saying that or thinking it.  Nurses and doctors who are genuinely amazed by my dad and his progress.  The decorative glass in the ceiling. This time he was back in the same room he has been in before. To this point, they have always saved my dad. Sitting in his room today and hearing "Code Blue 4th Floor Room ---" makes you really stop and count your blessings. I think about the people who were on the fourth floor when my dad was, whose outcome was not as positive as his. I feel overcome with sadness and notice tears fall to my keyboard as I think about them and the pain of their loss. I think of how few people I see with a scar on their head like the one my dad has, because not many survive it. Some days I miss my dad.  I miss our phone calls and I miss his jokes and his stories.  I miss the sound of his voice.  I miss his confidence.  I miss the treasures he would find for each of us.  I miss who he was.  I try to look forward to who he is becoming, and can't wait to see how God continues to use my dad, I know He is not finished with him yet.

I took the following picture as my brother and sisters and I were trying to find our way back to our cars parked on the ER side of Mayo.  I haven't been able to get this picture or these thoughts out of my head since...It was almost 11 at night, it was dark, we had no clue how to get back to where we needed to be - outside of the hospital....we have learned the inside of the hospital rather well.  So I think it was my brother who said, "hey there is a sidewalk lets see where that takes us."  We all laughed at the novelty of such an idea - walk on the sidewalk?  as opposed to the middle of the road?  As we walked we saw a raccoon cross our path, and then the sidewalk ended. The magnitude of that moment was intense for me.  How many people walk through the doors of this hospital, and this is where their sidewalk ends?  This is where their earthly path stops?  No warning.  No signs. No symptoms. Here one moment, and gone the next. The hedge, the lighting, its like when the path stops, look at that heavenly glow just shinning down....showing us where it goes for those who don't walk this earth with us anymore. Oh the irony to find this sidewalk on the grounds of a hospital. This picture has spurred some other thoughts as well but I will save that for a separate blog.  In our case, it has just been a matter of stepping off the sidewalk, into some unfamiliar terrain, burning our own trail and keeping each other hydrated as we see what waits just around the next hedge....

HIS Voice

It has been entirely too long since I blogged any update on my dad.  It isn't for lack of progress on his part.  Just a lack of discipline on my part!  The way his therapy appointments have fallen, my little sister has been taking him.  I have seen his progress, but seen it when I am hanging out with him at home. With it being 2 days shy of six months since his stroke, I just had to share with you his newest accomplishment! 

 Today I decided to play with a huge ant pile in my backyard which wasn't really too smart considering my reactions to ants, and I ended up with ants all over my hands....so I walked down to get some baking soda to make a paste and put on the ant bites....my brother and I hung out for a while and then when my dad got home he was trying to get my attention.  

He has been working on projecting his voice and speaking louder. I was in the kitchen and when he yelled my name, it was HIS voice.  Not the stroke voice, not the stroke speech...it was my dad, it sounded just like him.  He is coming back all the way! *(I feel compelled to add this little note right here, in no way is what I just said meant in anything but love.  I love my dad and his voice, regardless of how it sounds. BUT, being human, and craving familiarity, it was pretty amazing to hear him and know his voice is still in there). I can't even express in words how happy this made my heart feel.  

Ever since the stroke I have periodically played back saved voicemail from my dad from a week before his stroke.  His phone calls and just checking on me and hearing him speak - telling jokes or stories from him growing up, opening the door and telling the boys "welcome to the jungle", I miss these things that were greatly defined by HIS voice. Don't get me wrong, I am so incredibly grateful that he is still alive.  

My mom has told us all along that he was going to come all the way back, but time passes and doubt sets in. I think about the doctor that showed my mom the ct scan of his brain and showed her, while I stood close by,  the area of his brain that was affected.  I stood there as my mom asked what we could realistically expect with regards to walking and speaking just because she needed to know, I stood there as the doctor said, 'this is bad, not much, IF he ever speaks again, it will probably only be a few words and he probably wouldn't be able to link his thoughts to his words and speak.'  Then he turned around and walked out.... 9 days later my dad sang happy birthday!  I really need to start learning to listen to my mom.....aren't moms always right?!?!

Needless to say when he called my name today, in his voice, from the other room, I started crying.  I didn't think I would ever hear him speak again, when he did -- we were thrilled, never even gave a second thought to if his voice would return to the way it was before the stroke.  We were just thrilled to be able to hear him speak.  Now hearing his voice, its like.....priceless.  I can't find the words to express how incredible this is.

 I look at my dad and the way he has struggled but also how he has overcome.  I read a book recently titled, "Hope Heals" and the author survived a brain stem stroke and there were similarities in her story and my dads.  One thing she talks about was how people would tell her she was such a miracle, but she couldn't walk, she couldn't eat, she couldn't see out of one eye, she couldn't speak clearly, she couldn't use her right arm or right hand. Yet people still told her she was a miracle, even though to her "the miracle had left her unable to live normally."  This has really given me a different perspective as I have been quick to tell my dad that he is such a miracle, but never stopped to think how that came across to him.  Yes I still tell him he is a miracle, while validating that that is not how he might feel at this particular moment in time. 

I took this video today.  Not only did he use HIS voice (which takes so much effort) but he also chose what he wanted to say!  He is still the same on the inside! I also linked the video from one of the first times he spoke when he was in the hospital and he actually sang happy birthday, just so that you can compare the two. First one is from December 1, 2015.  Second one is from today, May 19, 2016...

"Therefore we do not give up. Even though our outer person is being destroyed, our inner person is being renewed day by day.  For our momentary light affliction is producing for us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory. So we do not focus on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Brooks Challenge Mile 2016

Where has the time gone?  

I haven't blogged in what feels like forever.

Today was an amazing day so I figured I would share some thoughts with you all.

Today, 113 days after my dad's stroke, a stroke that doctors said would render my dad unable to walk or talk....yes, 113 days since THAT stroke, my dad signed up and completed the Brooks Challenge Mile. He walked it.  He walked it on his own, well with a bunch of us walking with him.  He walked it without any type of external devices.  This was the 6th year that Brooks has hosted the challenge mile as part of the festivities surrounding the Gate River Run.  I was browsing the Brooks facebook page one evening a few weeks ago when I ended up on the website and reading about the challenge mile...I started messaging my brother and sisters and mom and asked them what they had planned for March 12th....they were all a bit baffled but said nothing....I told them I would come over the following day to tell them my idea.  I thought it might have been pushing it, signing my dad up and doing this such a short time period after his stroke.  He agreed so we went for it!  

Finally March 12th arrived...and we had to wake up way too early, and get signed in and to the event....then wait for what seemed like forever for it to actually start, but once it started, I felt for that one mile stretch that I wasn't part of this world.  At least not in the sense of ready, set, go....win, win, win.  I like the way the Brooks Rehabilitation Challenge Mile described it so I will tell you there purpose behind it...."The Challenge Mile is not meant to be a competitive race, but rather a way for people of all ages and abilities to celebrate their personal accomplishments. " This is not a race, this is not about who finishes first, this is not about personal achievements, this is not about the medal, this is not about personal gain, this is all about celebrating the accomplishments that so many people take for granted.  It was very overwhelming to me to see so many different people in so many different places in their life but all, in one way or another tied to Brooks... some still in the Brooks Rehabilitation hospital, some like my dad who have gotten out and are still working hard in therapy, others who are seasoned pros at being differently-abled. 

I saw determination. From the little guy who looked to be no older than 2 or 3 to the elderly gentleman who had to stop every few feet to take a break to the middle aged man who pushed forward and each step was challenging to the middle aged guy with no hands and wheelchair bound who completed that mile in less than 30 minutes to the woman who was pushed by her family to the woman who was relearning how to walk. I noticed that determination looks very similar no matter the age of the man who possesses it. 

I saw amazing love.  I saw unconditional love. I saw unfailing love. I saw people who love beyond what the world can see.  I saw people who loved beyond the way the world defines the intense feeling of deep affection.  I saw generational love. At one point I was behind what looked to be a grandmother, mother and daughter. I loved watching the way they each held on to the one they loved and walked with her every step of the way.  

I saw smiles.  I saw tears. I saw joy and heartache, and struggle and success all in one mile. 

I heard loved ones encouraging the people they were walking with.  I heard wives telling their husbands to just keep going, that they could do it.  I heard a care giver telling a young man to take just one more step.  I heard a lot of clapping and cheering coming from the people who were near the back of the crowd as those who had made the turn and were already heading for the finish.  

In one mile, I was reminded of just how much love there is among family. Most of the people participating in this challenge mile did so with the assistance or care of loved ones who were walking with them every step of the way.  I saw how Brooks Rehabilitation Hospital encouraged my dad when he was going there and as the volunteer in charge on our bus said, "You are part of the Brooks family now, welcome to the family!"  We had an amazing volunteer leader....she has been in my life since 9th grade!  She took some of these pictures I am using on this blog with my camera, and tonight she shared this with us that just seemed so fitting - "Everything happens for a reason. Nothing happens by chance or by means of good luck, illness, injury, love, lost moments of true greatness, and sheer stupidity all occur to test the limits of your soul. Without the small tests, whatever they may be, life would be like a smoothly paved, straight flat road to nowhere. Appreciate every moment and take from those moments everything that you possibly can."

Being somebody who struggled with physical issues in high school, I longed for a place to fit in.  I wanted to run track and play basketball. I wanted the medals and trophies, as some kind of accomplishment to look back on.... but my joints didn't allow me to compete with peers that were my age.  I can't tell you how amazing it is that this Challenge Mile exists, and that within that mile, you fit in, no matter what you are dealing with or have been dealing with, no matter if you can walk or run or be pushed, you belong. Age doesn't matter, height doesn't matter, how fast you are or how slow you are doesn't matter. At some point we come to realize that what can be recorded on paper or preserved in a medal or trophy, fails in comparison to what our heart learns from walking this difficult road of not fitting in...but hey - I finally got a medal!

 I was so happy to see my dads physical therapist from when he was at Brooks Hospital come and see him.  My dads face definitely lit up when he saw Michael and Vince!  I love the way they see my dad and are genuinely happy with how well he is doing. 

I really like this picture of us walking.  Its a great representation for me about what life should be like.  We should walk beside each other no matter how difficult the terrain we are to traverse. We are not guaranteed any day or hour or moment with those we love.  I will never forget the knock on my door the morning of Saturday, November 21st, 2015 ....my sister just said, "something happened to dad, the ambulance just left with him."  I remember sobbing in my husbands arms and just saying that I didn't want him to die.  I love my dad so much, we connect --and we understood each other and our relationship had really grown a lot in the months leading up to his stroke.  I get sad when I think about the things I miss from before.  I get sad when I think that he will never be how he used to be.  But then I look at this picture, everything looks so 'normal' if you didn't know our story.  I will always walk beside him, encourage him, offer some water when he needs it, a snack, a ride to see his brother....because when its all said and done - people remember you being there for them.  They remember you walking beside them when their reality sucks.  

#WeAreBrooks