This is a poem dedicated to my husband
Who hasn’t just lived a life with me and his Bernese Mountain,
But also with broca’s aphasia.
For those who have no idea what i’m talking about,
This aphasia prevents him from fully understanding what i say, and producing intelligible
words.
Before the stroke damaged a god-knows-where area in his left brain hemisphere,
My beloved was a lawyer. And I was an actress.
He has no interest in singing, dancing or acting,
He doesn’t enjoy a four-hour sit down opera, not even if i was playing the main character.
Not that he doesn’t love me, just
“Waste of my time, honey.”
After the stroke damaged the broca’s area in his left brain hemisphere,
My beloved stayed at home and cried words that can’t be heard,
Twelve therapists came and went.
“Aa ..a y.. um, c.. coun.ted..t” – I counted.
His eyes scarlet, his mouth quivers, his hands ice cold.
As we began to lose faith,
He came to the show in which i played Fantine, something he’d never done before.
I noticed a smile he was fighting back, and how he was fighting with it.
He gave me a ride home and after a long day, we prefer silence,
But he turned the radio on and started humming.
At first, it was wordless mumbles then it slowly turned to a heartfelt Jean Valjean.
My beloved, when you put your heart to a song,
The right brain side analogous to the broca’s area on the left is activated.
So now you can talk with rhythm.
I ask him,
“Was it that or just the act of making noise that brought you joy?”
He answered with a nice twist,
“It was you.”
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