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"Jesus Christ Superstar" and strokes

Last week I attended the Permanent Building Fund Advisory Council in behalf of the College of Western Idaho where I am a trustee. I came early to listen to several higher education intuitions present their building needs and wishes.

I know 4 of the 5 council members and many of their staffers. Before the meeting, many people shook my hand saying “It is great to see you!”

One person said, “You are completely normal. You are back! Good for you!”

I laughed and said, “I was ‘never’ normal, but, seriously, I will never be the same again.  20% of my brain is dead, and I have residual issues that will never get better. It is what it is. It could be worse.”

My statement was met with stunned silence and then a uncomfortable “Wow! But you seem so normal today.”

I said, “This is my new normal. I have issues that people do not even know about, but that is OK. I just try to live my life every day like it would be my last day.”

Today at my latest therapy session, I recounted that story. I said, “I feel that I am a broken record. People believe my recovery is complete because I look "fine." I am not.” My therapist said, “I should canned story like ‘I am getting consistently better and I am still working on some problems so I do therapy.'”

I feel almost ungrateful for my recovery. 

However, it has been almost three years since those strokes. I have no physical pain like some stroke survivors’, but the emotional toll resonates everyday.

One of my favorite movie musical is “Jesus Christ Superstar.” Perhaps my favorite song is “Gethsemane (I Only Want To Say)” where Jesus pleads with his father (“God”) not make him be crucified.  It is a tragic song about loss, devastation, and exhaustion.

After my stroke, I listened to that song over and over. Though the context is different, this lyric echos in my mind because of what I have been through:

“Then I was inspired, now I'm sad and tired
Listen, surely I've exceeded expectations
Tried for three years, seems like thirty
Could you ask as much from any other man?”

Amost “three years” of living, tears, therapy, and, yes, thankfulness for my life. I am happy but sad. Grateful but disheartened. Joyful for my family but trying to disguise depression.

If I had to describe one word about “me” today, it would be “family.” When I get depressed, feel lost, and despondent, I look at my son. I look at my wife. I think of my family.   It makes everything worthwhile. 
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