An Ear-ache and a Funeral

     Starting my day earlier than normal with plans to spend the weekend with family at the funeral of a life that stroke stole.  Mary Samolej was a woman I was blessed to know through marriage, and she fills the role of wise, old sage even in death.  Immediately after my stroke, I was vexed at the celebratory nature with which most people handled the involuntary act of surviving a stroke.  I was like, "People, do you not see me here stuck in this bed because I can't get out of it on my own and even needing assistance to wipe my own hind end?  Do you see that I'm in pain, and every aspect of the life I get to live will be a struggle?  What is so great about surviving a stroke?  I've carried this question with me voicing it only to those closet to my heart and being chastised repeatedly by my husband who got it without the help of a wise, old sage, but Mary as long as I've known her, has listened to my incessant babbling as a young wife and mother with gentle and accurate correction when my immaturity reached a level of personal detriment, and this week, she has taught me that yes, surviving a stroke is something to celebrate because you get to hug one more time, hear just once more, and yes, its worth it to live with excruciatingly frustrating disability to be able to do those things!  Thank you , Mary, for one more lesson!  I will miss you entirely too much to forget it!
    Facing stroke from the flip-side has introduced me to what I'm assuming is survivor's guilt because after making plans all week to head to what we knew would likely end up being a funeral, I walked into a dark room last night with a tight chest and tears streaming down my face only able to utter, I don't want to go." to my husband who was already snuggly tucked into bed.  I had been playing Candy Crush in the living room when anxiety overtook me at the thought of facing Mary's close family members as a stroke survivor when their mother, nana, or sister hadn't been so fortunate.  The weight of, "Why me, not her?" weighed heavily on my soul.  "I'm sorry!  I'm sorry that my life was spared and not yours!" Something tells me that Mary would have some sage advice for this, but I can't help but feel this irrational sorrow over the survival that Mary just taught me to celebrate, so its going to be a great weekend celebrating a beautiful life that even in death taught me to celebrate mine, but I'm even screwing that up by feeling guilty for doing it.  I know, I know, Mary, I'm a frustrating student, but anyway, to make the weekend more enjoyable, I have an earache that I suspected I'd have after soothing my aches in the hot tub last night, and this will be difficult to explain.  You see, when your brain is injured, it no longer sends out the correct messages to you body, but that doesn't stop it from messaging, and in some cases, it carries on sending wrong messages to the affected body parts, which sums up why I traded my cell phone payment in for a hot tub payment last Christmas.  These bad messages result in a muscle cramp chain reaction called spasticity.  Basically, as I understand or feel it, one muscle beginning down by my hip on the left side spasms setting off a painful chain reaction up through the muscle chain to which its connected ending somewhere right below my left ear.  The hot, high velocity jets of the hot tub do miracles for relieving the discomfort when this occurs, so I often lower my body gradually into the hot tub while lining a jet up with the lowest spasming muscle and just lower myself further guiding the muscle chain along the jet as it relaxes, and well, last night, I didn't stop soon enough and lowered my left ear right into the jet's path.  At first, it didn't hurt, but I suspected that the high-powered water would disturb the inner workings of my ear, and I was right, so this weekend its an earache and a funeral, and not just any funeral, at that, one that conjures anxiety and guilt to accompany the typical grief, but I commit to being celebratory on Mary's behalf because she's taught me that I was given a gift in this broken, aching, ridiculous life that I live, and I plan to honor her and this last lesson by living it well!