Beyond Stroke Survival

Since my mother had her first stroke, I’ve had to mourn the person I used to know—the mother who took care of me, the one I turned to for advice, the grandmother I imagined for my future children. It feels selfish to grieve her, especially when she’s the one facing physical struggles, but I’ve had to let go of the person she once was, even as she’s still here with me.

During her time in the hospital, we were not sure if she would make it. In those moments, I swear I saw her in my dreams. I’ve talked to her, cried with her, and asked for her help. That experience gave me a clarity that life would never be as it once was. It reminds me of a scene from Harry Potter:

Oddly, it’s comforting to think that these moments might be real in some way. And, as I’ve learned, seeing and feeling the presence of loved ones is common during grief—a phenomenon that keeps us stay connected.

This moment did leave me with one question, who is my mother now? She’s still my mom and, in some ways, not my mom. It’s surreal, like being in a Twilight Zone. As I navigated this, My Stroke of Insight by Jill Taylor, Ph.D., resonated with me deeply. In her book, Dr. Taylor describes her experience with a stroke similar to my mother’s, and her words brought me comfort.

She describes the “blanket of tranquil euphoria” she felt when she lost connection with the left side of her brain, a sense of oneness with everything. Although she’d lost the concept of what a mother was, she still remembered how loved she was. She knew the love and intentions of those around her, and she needed them to understand that she wasn’t stupid—just wounded.

Reading Jill’s words helped me see that even if my mom couldn’t remember me, she would still feel the love and kindness I have for her. She may not be the strict, disciplined mother I knew growing up, but that bond remains.

It’s been over six months since I read Jill’s book, and I now see a new side of my mother. She knows us, and she remembers how proud she is of me and my sisters. She beams at our pictures and coos at our awards as though she’s seeing them for the first time. With the release of her strict left-brain self, she’s become playful. She loves practical jokes and can’t get enough of watching home movies.

This is my mom now—a mother who may have let go of some of the past but still holds our love close.