The Stroke  -- by Lynn Zuk-Lloyd

It had been one week since my mother came home from the hospital. Her speech and ability to swallow food had been affected by the stroke. Most of the slurring had disappeared, but Anna’s words were still limited to slow, short, hard-to-understand sentences.

Every afternoon and evening Anna attempted to do simple, 100-piece puzzles that I carefully laid out on the kitchen table. Painstakingly, Anna picked up the pieces one by one and struggled to place them into the end pieces that I had linked together. After a second or third puzzle, I would get her started on another one, then pull out my drawing tablet and colored pencils. When Anna got bored with the puzzles, she would watch me draw.

One day, forming each word with great effort, Anna asked, “W h a t … d i d … y o u … d r a w ?” Her sentence was devoid of all emotion – something else the stroke had robbed from her.

I looked up from my sketchpad. My mother’s face was expressionless. Where was her beautiful smile, her sparkling eyes and animated voice? Gone were our long conversations around the kitchen table. Gone were the cherished moments of jolly laughter. Gone the nights we stayed up late putting 500-piece puzzles together.

Somewhere inside the person sitting across from me was the mother I used to know. Tears swelled up in my eyes as I remembered her cheerful personality and the delight she took in planning and preparing home-cooked meals and caring for her family. Now she spent hours sitting at the kitchen table watching me cook, wash dishes and fold clothes – all the things she had taken pride in.

Holding back tears, I said, “I’m drawing birds for the stories I wrote.” She stared blankly at me. 

Wondering how badly her mind was affected, I added, “Do you remember the children’s Christmas stories that I showed you? The ones I wrote about the birds?”

Anna thought for a long time, then nodded her head up and down. “I … r e m e m b e r,” she said. “T h e y … w e r e… v e r y … g o o d.” The she added, “S h o w … m e.”

I slid my sketch pad over to her. As she looked at the drawings I explained that I was having trouble turning my bird sketches into simple characters that could be animated.

“Y o u ‘ r e … a n … a r t i s t.”

I sighed. What she said was true. I was able to became an artist because Anna believed in me. While growing up she had repeatedly told me that I could do anything I put my mind to. She constantly praised my artwork, even when it was bad, and hung my paintings all over her house. It was her faith in me that enabled me to start a successful career in the commercial art world. And it was her high standards that taught me to never settle for the mediocre, but always strive to do the best work possible.

But right now I could not do my best. I felt helpless. My mother was nearing the end of her life and there was nothing I could do about it. Without heart surgery there was no hope and her surgeon didn’t want to take the chance because of her poor health. My bird sketches faired no better. There seemed to be no hope for them, either.

“Lynn!” my mother said abruptly, in a clear voice. Startled, I looked up. Anna opened her mouth and spoke in bold, distinct words, “You’re an artist. You can draw anything.”

I was stunned. My mother's was speech was clear and understandable. She was talking normal. I was so excited. The caring, nurturing mother that I knew still existed. I started blabbering away. Anna stared at me with a blank expression. The moment of happiness vanished. She went back to her slow speech. I went to bed that night and cried.

The next afternoon, right in the middle of putting a puzzle together, Anna started asking me about the boys I dated in high school twenty years ago. I looked up. She was talking clearly – in perfect sentences. God had healed her speech! It was a great moment of joy and this time the healing remained, right up to the very end, when the Lord took her home five weeks later.

And … if you’re wondering about the bird sketches, yes, I was able to complete them, thanks to my mother. Anna never got to see them, but she is free like a bird now – free to fly into the arms of Jesus, free to laugh with the King and free to soar like an eagle in His eternal presence.

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