On March 13, 2021, the day before I turned 50, my mom had a stroke, a massive cerebral hemorrhage in her right temporal, parietal and occipital lobe. Three years earlier she had a stroke in her left occipital and temporal lobe from which she’d recovered completely. The stroke of 2018 was also severe, and the surgeon removed an ounce of blood from her brain, but while it debilitated her significantly, her self-awareness remained intact. She knew “I’ve had a stroke and I need to get better.”
My mom has always been a fighter. Life was an exciting (sometimes) battle (always) for her. Whether it was neighbors whose dogs barked too loudly, a rental car clerk who had the audacity to say that the car would be available only after a wait of 30 minutes, my high-school administration who wouldn’t refund her for the outrageous “free” periods in my schedule, or a young non-English speaking Latino immigrant mom started tutoring when he was in elementary school and whom everyone said didn’t stand a chance, whatever the circumstance mom loved a good fight.
