It's hard to wake up.
I went for my first session of brain rehab last week. Treatment with a psychologist who knows and understands toxic injury to the brain. He's seen hundreds of patients like me, which I find comforting.
Before discussing the memory issue, we talked about the overwhelming sadness that has kept me company these last couple of months.
"I've been improving physically, but I've found myself declining emotionally," I said.
His response was simple. "You woke up."
"The brain literally comes back to life after a trauma. You suddenly become aware of what has happened to you. You connect with reality."
It's a harsh reality. The loss of our home. Our friends. Our health. Our dreams for our kids. Our life as we once knew it.
And then the loss of my precious mother.
I've had trouble functioning at times. Not only because of sickness, but also because of grief.
Last night I sat up with one of my older daughters as she wept over her reality. The loss of her adolescence. Her beloved journals and books. Her love of learning. Her dreams for her future.
The pain, at times, is unbearable as a mother.
"I think this must mean I'm getting better," she cried.
She knows. Every tear that climbs out of its cage moves her closer to a recovered life.
I love these simple, yet profound words of William Cowper, "Grief is itself a medicine."