My mom told me that the other day she was sitting, watching Gilmore Girls, and having a jolly good time (okay, so she didn’t say “jolly good time.” I’m paraphrasing), just watching and laughing, really enjoying herself. And then she looked down – she saw her arm, and her leg, and she remembered she was broken.
That was the word she used: broken.
She said that it feels like everything is different. Almost like she lived one life before the stroke, and is living a different life now.
She said it was nice to forget, for awhile, that everything was different. It was nice to feel, even for a second, that nothing had changed. It was nice to forget, for those few moments, that she was broken.
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