My friend Amy wrote the other day: Life matters. Dignity matters. Love matters. And if Xmas encapsulated anything, in all its strangeness this year, it was how they all came together with the spirit of hope.
Dad has continued the gentle upward curve over the Xmas period: his mind becoming increasingly clearer; his appetite slowly returning; once hoisted out of the bed he can now stand for short periods; and Iāve quite warmed to the steely determination heās begun to adopt with the more stubborn left hand – attempting to crush mine in our newly adopted handshake. An auspicious thumbs up on the progress, so far, then.
Oh, and I won this yearās traditional, familial Xmas Day arm wrestling competition. Albeit the winning of the coin toss arguably proved important. Best of three, alternate arms, I won the toss so chose to start on the left for a 2-1 win. Result! Ā : )
As the rewiring continues, the daytime dreamlike hallucinations are apparently curiously entertaining. Birds flying in through the window and sitting on the bed opposite. Dogs casually wandering down the ward. Random faces appearing in the curtains. And the fixtures and fittings occasionally swirling around in elaborate dance formations. Iāve been there when this happens. Heās perfectly awake and lucid, describing the scene as if its inexplicable that I canāt see it, too. And yet, as soon as he closes his eyes, opening them again wipes the hallucination away like a real life Etch-a-Sketch. The strangeness and charm of stroke recovery.
āReaching out for a hand that we
canāt see
Everybodyās got a hold on hope
Itās the last thing thatās holding meā
– Guided By Voices