It hurts to even hear the word.
A year has passed and my dad is doing so well that if you met him now, you would probably never even know.
But if I were an actress, I could use the memories to cry – instantly – in the midst of the silliest moments. All it takes is one small mention of the word and the tears are just beneath my eyelids. Burning.
Jeff’s grandpa had one last year and is no longer alive.
Friends tell stories of their mothers or uncles or grandfathers who have had one and I have to remind myself to take a breath.
A character in a movie has one, and I stop breathing until it’s over – or turn it off and quit watching altogether.
And then there are the jokes.
A friend is shocked by some news
and jokingly says it just gave her a stroke.
The fish that can’t swim straight,
so they say it had a stroke.
The snowman on Gilmore Girls* with the crooked mouth,
or stroke face.
I know it’s not intentional; they don’t mean anything hurtful. It’s all meant in jest, and I get that.
But it slams into me with tremendous strength.
Every single time.
And I hate that my dad lives so far away, because every time I hear the word, all I want is to hug him.
*Gilmore Girls ©2000-2007