Memories

I have had time on my hands today as I nursed myself and Mia back to health, so I have been browsing all of my photos. Holy cow, no wonder my computer runs so durn slow. I have thousands and thousands of images!

The above image popped out at me, not because of it’s stellar composition or clarity, but because I remember that day very clearly. We were in Galveston to go to an interview for Bill. It was July 2006, just 2 months after he had his migraine stroke, and we were in pure panic mode. The giant, guttural pull to find a job with health benefits was consuming, and as I look back on it, I am so glad that he did not get that job.

I know that we were trying to find our past again. A past in which Bill was whole and healthy. A past that was filled with so much happiness. We wanted to go back in time, and that was not a good reason to move.

The day I took this image, we were at the hotel pool, and Bill was so quiet and abrupt with all of us. Early on, I was not able to pick up on how his moods reflected the intensity of his post stroke symptoms (mostly tingling on his right side), so I was feeling hurt.

It wasn’t until a day or so later that he told me he was feeling bad that day.

And so our life post-stroke began. He would get moody and I in turn would get worried. The ebb and flow of his symptoms came and went with no predictable pattern at all. It was interesting to see how my instinct kicked in with him, and our years of togetherness made him so transparent. I learned how to read his moods and realized that he needed his space on those days….when he was ready, he would come to me unexpectedly and tell me he had felt bad a few days before. I knew though.

It is hard to believe that it has been close to 3 years now. It doesn’t consume our daily thoughts. It is not the first thing I remember when I roll out of bed in the morning anymore. We have certainly not forgotten though. It shaped our lives and who we are today.

Today we are grateful. We are happy. We are together and we have learned how to love life with gusto.

That day in July, I zoomed in on him and snapped the picture. I wanted his image to fill my lens before he disappeared. When the shutter went off, it was burned into my mind forever.