Raising Maine

My father is a stat. Sure, he's a statistic, a number -- a stroke survivor. What separates numbers from people is watching the love in his eyes while he pulled my mom toward him and gave her a quick kiss yesterday, lying in a torn white and blue cotton hospital robe with my sister and I turning our heads almost in sinc as if we were intruding on a moment.

Did you know that every 45 seconds in the US, someone experiences a stroke? Or did you know that stroke kills twice as many women as breast cancer? Stroke is the third leading cause of death in the US following heart disease and cancer.

What separates numbers from people is feeling his weak fingers touch the back of my hand, when he first awoke and saw me sitting next to him. "Who's that?" he said. I said, "Laurie." "My daughter Laurie?" "Yes, dad, I'm right here. I'm your youngest child, Laurie." "Oh. I know," he explained, "I just can't see you that good."

Relief replaced the fear of him possibly forgetting I was born, from his progressive dementia. Oh, it's his lack of vision in his left peripheral vision, that's all, I thought.

My siblings and cousin Joey and I all have different visions of my father's post stroke reality but hope and promise we all agree on. Try putting one hand over your eye and walking or looking around the room. It is difficult to focus or to find your way around. Post stroke is a new reality.

My father's eyesight is now impaired, his heart is precisely in the right place and embraced by my mom. One has to wonder if it is not LOVE that conquers all?

Unlike the definition in the Oxford dictionary to conquer is to "overcome in war with effort" perhaps love of two individuals "overcome in war against illnesses effortlessly." I don't know the answer but it's as prudent as any.

Is love the highest power in healing? Can it be so? I ask, why not?