A reverberating letter to my stroke

Warning: May be a downer but want it out of my head. Written rashly, on the fly, on my phone in my bed at 4-something-a.m. lately. Unedited.

"I do credit my own stroke, as evil as it's been, for one - merely one - good thing: it had brought me out of my 14-to-16-year dead son rut. Which had been a wild feat!

I often wondered how I would free myself from that quagmire. I tried to, in a lashing of ways, for all those years, yet none worked. And then the stroke... I suppose I required A SHOCK TO MY SYSTEM, yeah?! That was what that was. The needed shock.

I suppose that whole torment was my God/Universe telling me, yelling at me, it was high time to let go and move on. Because, for one, other bad stuff, or perhaps worse stuff, could occur. And, for another, I must live while I still could, that whole damn mantra.

So, I mean, thank you, stroke, for being, y'know, the unlikely instrument of change when I resoundingly needed it. Although I could never get past how you have left me for dead and maimed me for life - which you know you have - still, thanks for that one thing!"

Also, posting this online, which was unplanned, is how I know I am out of that mire. I have finally, after decades, survived the passing of my boy.