My father hasn't been able to speak for 23 years and three months. He hasn't been able to move his

body the way he wants to. He hasn't been able to move as fast as he wants to. He hasn't been able to move his right arm because of the partial paralysis on the right side of his body; therefore, that right arm sits in a sling. His tongue is partially paralyzed too, so that's why as hard as he tries he can't make the words, phrases, sentences in his mind form and make it through to his lips. His left arm, although it works fine, has a cane as its constant companion, as he cannot walk without it since the right side of his body will not cooperate with the left side.

My dad had a massive stroke in July 1993, about a year after I'd moved to Chicago, and life as he knew it was no longer. He was just 43 years young when it happened ... three months into a company he'd founded. While sitting at the desk in his office and not being able to speak, he started banging his coffee cup on the desk to alert his partner about his condition.

He was in a wheelchair for a little while after that, but after more than a year of rehabilitation, he still had the paralysis on his right side and the speech never returned. Still, the doctors could not believe that he survived, but by the grace of God, he did.

I believe he also survived because he always had a strong, healthy mind. My dad is an intelligent man as well as a tremendous chess player who has twice been the Nebraska State Chess Champion.

Over the years my dad and I have developed our own special way of communicating. We had to. He'll say one word, maybe two, and I'll complete the sentences for him. There are other times when I simply just don't know what he's trying to tell me, but I pretend that I do. It's silly. He knows when I don't understand. He understands his limitations and mine. But we sit there, and we pretend that I know exactly what he was trying to convey. Sometimes I try harder and I play a bit of a guessing game, because I see that it frustrates him ... not the fact that I can't figure it out, but the hard truth that he can't say the words that are sitting there in his mind. I'm noticing that his frustration level is increasing. I understand this frustration even though it has been a long time since he's been able to use his words, to hear the sound of his own voice. One could say that it's something you have to get used to, but not me. There must be plenty of times when it feels worse than it did in 1995, in 1998, in 2005, in 2001, in 2008, in 2014...

Sometimes my dad and I will just look at each other and bust out laughing. His laughter, sense of humor is still fully in tact. It hasn't changed even though the words have disappeared.

While visiting him recently, it only took one hand signal for me to know exactly where he stands on some Americans favorite racist, bigoted, sexist candidate in the current election. He briefly turned the channel to CNN where lizard-sardine lips was spewing more lies, more insults, and who knows what else, and my dad made the talking mouth sign with his left hand. He opened and closed his hand really fast, followed it with a dismissive wave, and I think he even threw in a little eye roll, too. He gets it. We both laughed wildly.

This probably has nothing to do with anything, but I find myself wondering today if my dad not being able to speak is why I'm so vocal, not afraid to speak up ... probably even when I shouldn't. Does this just happen with age? Have I earned the right to say my peace at 48?

It's funny because I used to be a really shy child, teenager even, and still today I have a fear of public speaking. However, I think I'm miraculously starting to overcome this. Maybe I'm using the words he can't say. I have 23 years worth of words, phrases, sentences of his that need to be heard, and on top of my own... Well, it's a lot. My dad is opinionated too, so I'd like to think that I'm doing all the talking that he's wanted to do for the last couple of decades.

One of the great things about being back home is that I'm able to spend more time with my father. I took for granted how important it is for him to see me and vice versa.

Although the enunciation and pronunciation is non-existent, there is one complete sentence that my father can still say:

"I love you, baby."

And I understand him perfectly.

#Speech #communication #stroke #family #father #life #God