Day 11

Dear Melynda,

At the risk of being redundant I wanted to sharing something similar today about a conversation I had with Kate. I was trying to explain to her why we can't be mean to people and how kindness is always the way. (I could write a whole post on your philosophy of kindness as well.) Well she didn't like this. We were talking about a friend in particular and she said, "mom I just have a hard time with her and it is just too hard to be nice." Well I was a little stuck I wasn't quite sure where to go with that. I am okay with my child having weakness but how do I teach her that we don't just roll over and say "die" when it is hard. Well since you are my favorite topic of choice right now a wonderful and tender story popped into my head.
I related to Kate about after you had your stroke. You were unable to use half your body and if that wasn't bad enough you were in a wheel chair because of your previous injury. I explained to her that you had a choice to make. You could either stay in your wheelchair and never get better or you could choose to get better. (I remember you telling me of one lady who went to therapy after a stroke and who was your age. She quite after a few weeks and never went back. She will always be paralyzed.) I then explained that getting better wasn't easy. It was painful, it was hard work, and it even made you cry... a lot sometimes...with discouragement. I told her even though it was hard work you did it because you knew it was worth it. I then told her the story about how you told the doctors you were going to be walking again by you 30th birthday. They said there was no way. They said you would be lucky to be up out of your wheel chair in therapy by that time. It was only 9 months after your stroke and accident. But you had made up your mind and you did it on crutches. You were so proud.
I remember two very emotional phone calls of accomplishment I received from you. The first time it is when you opened and closed your hand for the first time without help. I knew it was huge. I knew how much you had payed in pain for each nerve you had to regrow to get your hand to move again. You were elate and I took joy in the simpleness of the blessing you had recieved. I NEVER look at my hand and rejoice that I can open and close it. Now I often find myself caught up in that simple act.
The second was when you took your first step on crutches. You had wanted to be completely walking by April. We wouldn't find out for another year you would never walk on your own again. Those first steps meant so much for you. Crutches were such a blessing. You felt so free and more able to move around and care for your girls. I remember how much it broke my heart when you would go into your girls room to put them to bed but your wheel chair couldn't get in all the way so you would have to stay at the door way and tell them good night. You could never go lay by them, or help pick out their clothes and when they shoved all their dirty clothes into the corner of the room you would never know. That would be every teenagers dream though. :)
Thanks for being someone I can tell my daughter to look up. I know she loves you and she really felt your love so the stories I tell her about you really matter. You are a great sister. I miss you. I love you!

Love, Lar