"I Won't Let Go"

 

 
Anniversaries are most often happy occasions.  We choose a card or a gift or plan a surprise with love to celebrate a long ago wedding day with a spouse who seems to make us happier with every passing year.   I have pins and certificates  to signify years of service to our city's school district.  There are dates that become fixed in my memory of a special accomplishment or occasion.  They make me smile even if they do not touch anyone else.

Then, there are anniversaries of sad events.  Every year on September 11th, I find a meaningful way to pay my respects to the people who died in the attacks that happened that day in 2001.  I will never forget.  Memorial Day is so much more than just a day off work and hot dogs on the grill.  It is a day to remember all those who died in the service of their country.  I feel very strongly that we owe them our heartfelt tribute.  I am sure I am not alone in knowing the exact day when each of my parents passed away.  It gets easier as the years go by, but I will never forget those dates and how the world changed for me.

With an anniversary of a traumatic event in my life coming up soon, an idea started to form for this post.  At the same time, the lyrics of a special song captured my heart.  

                             Does it seem to any of you that 
                sometimes a song becomes part of the memories 
                       we keep, whether they are joyful or sad?  

The lyrics and melody seem to speak especially to me and then forever take me back to a time and place in my past.  Think I am going to use the words of the song to structure my story.  A link to the song, "I Won't Let Go," being performed by the group, Rascal Flatts, is provided HERE.  It is a very powerful song, and I have already talked to one dear blogger friend about how it also reminded me of the hardships she has dealt with in the past few years.  It will be interesting to hear if it connects with other readers.

                                          It's like a storm 
                                          That cuts a path
                                          It breaks your will
                                          It feels like that

                                         You think you're lost
                               But you're not lost, on your own
                                         You're not alone

It was 8 years ago now that I suffered a series of strokes - 5 of them in a 4 day period.  For most of the first day, I wasn't even understanding what was happening to my body and in my head.  I didn't feel in control of myself; my own free will was gone.  I couldn't think clearly and only knew that I felt alone and a little like I was drowning at the bottom of a well.  It was very frightening, too, but Sam was with me always.  He also did not realize what was wrong until my first visit to ER.  That was the first time people used the word "stroke."

                                       I will stand by you
                                       I will help you through
                                When you've done all you can do
                                       And you can't cope
                                       I will dry your eyes
                                       I will fight your fight
                                       I will hold you tight
                                       And I won't let go

The earliest physical manifestation of the first stroke was a horrible grand mal seizure on the left side of my body.  I was only half conscious - and I felt like I was standing and watching myself from above as it blasted and shook my body over and over again.  Sam thought at first that I had merely had a horrible nightmare.  Although I never had another seizure, each night in bed, my whole body would start to shake and tremble almost like how one would shiver violently from a very cold temperature.  For almost 6 weeks, Sam would spoon me and hold me tightly until the shaking would finally stop.  He never let go.  The tears started at least a dozen times a day.  He would help stop the crying by rocking me and saying, "Shhh..." over and over like you would to calm an infant.

                                       It hurts my heart
                                       To see you cry
                                        I know it's dark
                                       This part of life
                                      Oh, it finds us all
                                    And we're too small
                                      To stop the rain
                                    Oh, but when it rains

It was a very dark time for me.  The strokes that followed were not as severe as the first one, but with each one, I sunk deeper, and I was so afraid.  I couldn't hold my head up above my shoulders, and the thoughts in my brain were a staccato that made little sense.  It could take 60 seconds to get out just a few words, and the frustration brought on more tears.  There are huge chunks of time of which I have no memory at all.  All my senses but touch were affected; I could always feel someone's loving hands on me.  I always knew Sam or the boys were there.

I usually journal in the early morning, and I tried to write.  The letters would not stay on the lines, and my hand dribbled the words into a jumble that slid down the edge of the page.


                              "I am very scared.  I don't know
                                  wha
                                         t is
                                            happ
                                                 ening t
                                                     o
                                                        m
                                                            e."

When I walked down the hallway, my body would lurch and hit the walls.  I held onto things to keep my balance.  Sam put a stool in the shower so I wouldn't fall, and I did not shower unless he was with me.  Nothing seemed as difficult as buttoning a shirt; it was agonizingly slow.  I forced myself to do it over and over while I wiped the tears away.

                                   I will stand by you 
                                   I will help you through
                            When you've done all you can do
                                   And you can't cope
                                   I will dry your eyes 
                                   I will fight your fight
                                   I will hold you tight
                                   And I won't let go

I was hardly ever alone for long.  I was sleeping upwards of 16 hours a day.  Sam or the boys would fit in work and other responsibilities in the hours I slept.  Son #1 would keep his hand on my shoulder until I drifted off.  Many times his hand would still be there when I woke.  Son #2 stayed with me through 2 MRIs, sitting next to the scan machine and never letting go of my hand.  I am very claustrophobic and am petrified of being slid into that machine.  He talked of all his memories from childhood.  The loving moments he held dear.



                                  Don't be afraid to fall
                                  I'm right here to catch you
                                  I won't let you down
                                  It won't get you down
                                  You're gonna make it
                                  Yeah, I know you can make it

And, yes, like the song says, I did make it.  After 3 weeks of steady deterioration, I started coming back very slowly.  There are so many memories from my past that are fuzzy or just plain gone.  I compensate for the poor memory by writing everything down.  Handwriting will never be the same, but that is not a really important thing.  I can't balance on one foot if my life depended on it.  But, with the help of Sam, I crawled back out of that hole. 


                                       Oh, I'm gonna hold you
                                       And I won't let go
                                       Won't let you go
                                            No, I won't

One does not "celebrate" a bleak anniversary such as this one.  One remembers, perhaps with tears.  As for me, every year I thank God that...

                                      Sam never let me go.