On the one year anniversary of my stroke, I woke at five a.m. I found that I wanted to touch everything. The books on my shelf, the sculptures that my sister made: houses, wise women, gentle birds.

The anniversary I forgot to remember

Here in New York, where I live—north of NYC, south of Woodstock—I wanted to check in with you today. First, to say: Happy first days of summer. But also, to share a milestone with you—the one-year anniversary of my stroke.

One year ago, yesterday, I woke up with what I thought was a terrible migraine: dizzy, vomiting, a massive headache. I hadn’t had one in a while, but even years after they used to plague me twice a month, I remembered the feeling. So I did what I’d always done. I swallowed an ibuprofen and a Tylenol and went back to sleep.

Later that morning, I woke up and noticed a subtle weakness on the right side of my body. That’s a stroke symptom, I thought, even through the haze of migraine. I went to look at my face in the bathroom mirror. No change. My eyes looked even, my smile was normal—no droop in my lip or jaw, the hallmarks of a stroke. The migraine still had most of my attention, so I set the concern aside. I probably just slept on my right side, I told myself. Cut off the circulation. I went back to bed.

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I don’t want to linger here—I told the full story a year ago.
You can read that here and here.

I shared about the experience of recovering from a stroke here.

And I wrote about the (minor) brain surgery I had three months later, to “coil off” the aneurysm they found while scanning for stroke damage—that’s here.

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What I want to talk about now is what happened today.

I woke at 5 a.m. and took a morning bath. I read a little—the first chapter of a new Ocean Vuong book¹. His gorgeous prose rang in me like a bell, and I heard my own writerly voice wake up and begin to speak.

I turned on the recording app in my cell phone.
I stood and began to walk around the house, moving from room to room.

I found that I wanted to touch everything. The books on my shelf, the sculptures my sister, Beth made: houses, wise women, gentle birds. The pens in their checkerboard cup. I wanted, also, to name things: the book that I read in 1996², so vivid that I still remember many details of the stories. The painting my sister, Jen made of my father’s nervous system.

The turkey feather my son gave to me one Mother’s Day, knowing it would mean so much more to me than flowers or a greeting card.

The photo that my husband snapped of our daughter and me at a diner after we picked her up at the airport. How she ducked into the crook of my arm and cuddled beside me, always a daughter. And I, always a mom, patted the top of her head.

I caught those morning thoughts on a recording - and I’ll share them in another post. For now, I want to pause with you and say the most important thing about this:

I didn’t notice it was my stroke-a-versary.
I didn’t think about it at all until 10 a.m.

And that was just what I’d hoped would happen:
I crossed the solstice without incident and entered the summer filled with the blessings of my life.

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Photo by Chad Madden on Unsplash

I will rest now, tea in hand, and sit in the garden and enjoy this second day of summer.

And you?
What will you celebrate this week?
How will you welcome the season of the sun?

Big big love.
All the blessings.
Amy

1. The Emperor of Gladness, Ocean Vuong

2. People with Dirty Hands, Robin Chotzinoff

Yes, these are affiliate links. Yes, I get a tiny commission if you purchase a book through my links. Thank you.

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