Finding Courage in Adversity

I think of my father more often these days. At sixty six, like his father before him, he had a stroke and lost the use of the right side of his body. I admired him at the time for the determination and perseverance he displayed in his recovery efforts, but as a young adult I couldn’t possibly comprehend what he was really going through. I was caught up in my own sorrow at losing the indestructible Dad that I knew and focused on my own life.

Now, as my body and mind heals from the accident and I get a little stronger each day, I have begun to pick up my daily routine.  Hampered by the inability to use my right hand I am often exhausted by the time I complete an ordinary task I used to do so easily such as showering, dressing or fixing lunch. The better I feel, the more I want to do, and consequently the more frustrated I become. I want to rip the whole experience out of my life and go back to the way things were. And then, I think of my Dad.

House Designed & Built by Ed Hoffman Harborcreek, PA circa 1934-1935

As hard as it was for both he and my mother, together they managed to pick up the pieces of their life and keep going. Day by day, week by week, month by month they soldiered on. I never heard my Dad complain. Not once. I knew he’d break down in tears once in a while behind closed doors and was generally more emotional as a result of the stroke. Occasionally when he struggled to do something with his hands that he used to do so easily I’d hear him mutter “damn” when things went awry, as they often did. But he never gave up. He’d just keep at it until the task was done.

He was a doer before and after. At twenty-three, right out of college and during the depression when he struggled to find work, he designed and built, with his own two hands, the house he and my mother and their subsequent five children lived in for twenty years. The house still stands and looks better than ever. After the stroke he continued, in time, to garden, build, and create in any way he could.

Even at eighty-nine he was still trying to improve his condition. The day he died he decided to take the brace off his leg because exercises he was doing was making him stronger and he had read that wearing a brace too much can actually weaken the muscles. He tripped, fell and broke his leg and died post-op. Sadly, he saw the mishap as a failure and not the true success that it was.

So, when I start to feel frustrated and sorry for myself as I begin the challenges of rehab, I think of my Dad and I feel gratitude ~ not for what I’ve lost, but for all that I still have.