It’s that time. The anniversary of the stroke. It’s been 10 years.

Paige and I were talking about it the other day and I noted how silly it is to celebrate the memory of such a traumatic event. I decided that I was celebrating the survival of the event. But I’ve reconsidered. I am actually celebrating that traumatic event.

While the stroke doesn’t define me, it has changed me. It forced me to realize how quickly things can change, how one moment can turn your life upside down. It pushed me to appreciate all of the things I’ve taken for granted – everything from being able to put a key in a lock to being able to tell the server at Del Frisco’s I want the Cheesesteak Eggrolls. It taught me that moments should be treasured, life should be embraced, love should be embraced and shared.

Regardless, there are times my gratitude wanes a bit. I even catch myself thinking and even saying that I’m “not back at 100%” and that I probably won’t ever be. And I have to remind myself that I was actually never at 100% even when I had the ability to be. Something always kept me just under full potential, whether it be depression, mania, insecurity, even having dental issues (you may be surprised how many doors stay closed when you’re ashamed of your smile).

I realize that, in a roundabout way, the stroke pushed me harder and forced me to push myself harder, to work through some of these things so that I could assess any progress on the new trials.

At any rate, a decade has passed and the anniversary is here.

But this year the feelings of gratitude that come with it have some obstacles.

This is the first anniversary that my sweet Barkley isn’t here with me.

He was my therapist while I recovered.

He was my speech therapy – he let me talk to him over and over and over and he’d encourage me by talking back.

He was my physical therapy – taking him on walks helped me strengthen my legs and he would go as slow or as fast as I needed as often as I needed.

He was my occupational therapy – he would keep me company while I wrote the alphabet out over and over (and even sing along when I had to remind myself what letters came next) and getting treats for him helped with dexterity.

And, of course, he was there for me when I cried from the frustration, when I thought about giving up.

Honestly, I’m not sure if I would have been able to do it without him. I can’t even say I didn’t do it for him. So his absence this year is very difficult.

However, in the spirit of gratitude, I must acknowledge that I’m so very lucky that he was there and that I had 16 wonderful years with him.

This year the anniversary also has the challenge of competing with some weird numbness and weakness. For some reason, yet to be determined, I’ve been experiencing an unusual numbness and weakness in my arms and hands. While the numb sensation is not like the hemiparalysis after the stroke, the weakness is very similar. And the end result of not having complete control over my hands is painfully familiar.

While I’m sure it’s nothing, those decade-old feelings have surfaced.

Despite those feelings, or perhaps because of them, my feelings of gratitude are even stronger. I’m actually glad that the strange sensations have popped up now instead of another time. Were it another time of year, I’m not sure that I would have been reminded to keep in sight how it could be worse as well as what I’ve been able to overcome already.

Every cloud has a silver lining.

So…

Happy 10th anniversary to my cloud. Thank you for giving me the silver lining that grows stronger with every day.