January 2025 Sarah Hyde

Here I am three years out from what I call my “Stroke of Grace.” These past three years have been quite a journey. I think of journey as a kind of movement, walking on land to a destination. Friends go on journeys to the Camino de Santiago or travel to new places/cultures to explore. This journey has become a sacred pilgrimage, a journey leading inward from physical and psychological despair toward a spiritual emergence. I, like the monarch caterpillar, am emerging from a dark chrysalis becoming a butterfly, growing new wings. These wings are tiny buds still wet, needing warmth and sunshine to unfold and emerge into a new form.

Three and a half years ago, in a nanosecond, I lost my known physical form; I lost the total use of my left side. I was paralyzed and unable to move–sit, stand or walk. Slowly, ever so slowly, I am finding my spiritual leg, arm and hand. Learning how to navigate this new terrain as a disabled wife, mother and grandmother, who was wildly independent (or thought she was) has been very challenging and overwhelming. How would I cope…live: help and care for five grandchildren, my husband, help friends in need, cook, garden, wash, help clean the house, get up and down steps, drive a car, dress myself, get out of bed, go to the bathroom, read or write poetry? It was at first about physical survival and saying YES to life. Often, I’ve wanted to say NO. Perhaps my disability has birthed a new inner mobility, an ability to listen more deeply to the other, to see with fresh eyes, hear with new ears, perceive the world anew through my heart, not my head.

I’ve had new challenges this year: having fallen three times- breaking my wrist and fracturing some bones in my arm. These falls are not unexpected with someone in my compromised state, especially as I have increased my walking, albeit with the hemi-walker. I have learned that it is so important that I be ever more vigilant and mindful with every step I take.  The continued lesson is to pay attention to everything I do: walking, sitting, standing, to my words, thoughts and actions. The simplest lapse in attention can cause a fall and a simple careless word or negative thought can cause a spiritual wound. I was unconscious of what it really means to walk. I never thought about it until I couldn’t walk or stand on my own. Now I see standing and being vertical as an extraordinary miracle! A magnificent gift we often don’t acknowledge.

And I will say here, if I’m really honest, this past year has been very hard, moments of PTSD and despair. I was told, I’m not the material for trials as I don’t have the muscle mass, I’m too old and too many years out from my stroke. There are new therapies that can help me progress, yet I am much more aware of the importance of accepting my life just as it is here and now.

At first, my focus was on getting my body back on track.  Now it’s on the inner journey.  A question that comes up is- “How do I live from the inside out, not looking back with judgement, not fearing what others see or think, but rather trusting my heart and inner wisdom and not looking from the outside in. How do I give back to the world from the confines of my wheel chair in a body that no longer fully functions?” Could the wobbly, paralyzed leg and curled hand have birthed new eyes and ears? What comes to me again and again is LOVE…How do I love more deeply? I realize that I haven’t loved deeply enough on many levels. Too often I was busy doing life rather than loving the people and beings in my life: the ladybug on the windowsill, the devoted red dog at my feet or David’s gentle hand on my back.

Isn’t life a bit like a river with a course of its own? How do we navigate the undercurrents, unexpected rapids, the fallen white pine across the rips or the big boulder my canoe gets hung up on? I no longer resist or fear what is before me, instead I surrender to it all- both the deep suffering and the exquisite joy. This isn’t easy nor pretty, but it’s one of my many lessons I am learning. By paying attention to each moment, by seeing each moment as an opportunity for spiritual growth, I am sensing what I once imagined to be the wisdom of the elders. Now, I am transforming this trauma into as much conscious awareness and spiritual maturity as I can. My self-image was shattered three years ago. Part of me died then-my ego, my vanity, my greediness, my judgment, selfishness all was shattered. Amazing Grace!!! Still, I often feel depressed, sad and alone. Deep grief washes over me unexpectedly. Looking down at the thin leg in spasm in my wheelchair, I’m often not sure whose leg I’m looking at and then I realize it’s mine. I am finding new meaning out of pain and loss.

Last year I wrote a letter to the old Sarah, a letter “letting go” of those parts of myself that do not serve me and put it in a bottle and threw it out to sea.  That was a ritual working with the element of water. Working with ritual this year, I turned to the element of fire.  I wrote down those parts of me that I needed and wanted to transform. I threw them in our fire pit on Vinalhaven and watched them burn away. For me, this is a metaphor for purification – transforming fear and doubt into trust and acceptance. I’ve held back my true self much of my life. I spoke out loud to the elements what I intend to ripen, bring to fruition before I die. As I burn off layers of protection, an inner vulnerability arises and embraces me. I see through a lens that offers a softer vision of the world. I am cultivating soft courage. In these moments, my heart cracks open to the magnificence of the simplest of things – a hummingbird or honey bee gathering nectar from the honeysuckle outside the window. There is endless wonder, angels and miracles surrounding me.

And then, most importantly, there are the people in my life who offer such comfort, love and support. In those moments, I let go of the darkness and despair that creeps in. My challenge these days is to hold the lightness and beauty in my life while simultaneously acknowledging the darkness and despair

The reality of this stroke has become clearer in this third year. I face David’s and my mortality more now. The fact that I am disabled and quite dependent on others is a truth that I now face head on. As a result, I find myself going deeper into my spirit which holds no bounds. Staying in the present moment helps guide me to living from my heart. Gratitude is a doorway for healing. Trusting and being curious to what will unfold each day opens my heart to wonders I couldn’t have imagined three years ago.  Hearing the laughter of my grandchildren, feeling the buoying of the salt water on my skin, imagining how trees connect underground– all are medicine for me.  I, too, am reminded how deep the connections to all of you are, to the butterflies, hummingbirds, the tufted tit mouse, to the tiger slug — all of these sentient beings are helping heal my body and spirit. I believe this is happening all the time, but most of the time I have not been awake to it.

I am working to find the correct pace for my days now: when to rest, when to exercise, when to meditate, when to be silent… “a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance; a time to keep silence and a time to speak; a time to be born and a time to die.” Resting and going slow has never been easy for me. I am finding a new pace -slower, softer. It’s a mystery-this Stroke of Grace. Because I am unable to move as I want, I sit and notice the wind in the leaves and become one with its movement. It’s a bit like flying… Not knowing where you will land. I’ve met many new thresholds, particularly confronting my own depression and anxiety. I’ve always had a tendency to self-doubt and despair, but now it is magnified by the loss of the use of my leg, arm, hand and feeling completely powerless. My sense of movement is no longer grounded in my legs. This loss, however, is a strange gift guided by forces within and around me.

I feel supported by a friends’ visits, a fresh dinner from the garden, listening to Beethoven, the Beatles, Dylan, Bach and Bok. I am inspired by reading Rudolph Steiner with friends or by dancing in the kitchen with my grandchildren doing wheelies. Oh yes, and don’t forget the mint chocolate ice cream. Indeed, there are times I swing like a pendulum between deep sadness and squeals of joy. Though I walk a bit like ET still and my left leg is like a marionette- “I’ve got rhythm, I’ve got my guy, who could ask for anything more?”

I share these moments to let you know that I’m ok. Yes, I still have challenges and limitations, but thankfully I also have moments of awe and magic. This is my purpose, my meaning, my destiny calling… to teach through my actions and words in response to this stroke. All that really matters is to love and to love some more; to wake up and connect with others through the word, poetry, conversations, a sense of wonder, music, and humor. I’ve got it all- the love, the support, the beauty, the friendship, the rhythm and my guy extraordinaire!!!  Who could ask for anything more?