I’m learning a lot about aphasia, including an impromptu metaphor from yesterday’s visit to Lincoln City that frames a cautionary tale.

Aphasia can be compared to a fracture, similar to a broken bone.  Aphasia is a frequent injury resulting from a stroke, and the fracture occurs somewhere in the brain between one’s thoughts and its communication, whether it be via speech or in writing.

A person who suffers from aphasia is not a vegetable.  At the Aphasia Network workshop Alice and I attended, two couples – one member of whom is a survivor; the other a caretaker – participated in a panel discussion.  We witnessed how alive each survivor was, and indirectly learned how easy it can be to underestimate survivors’ mental faculties.

Like Alice, a survivor can be overwhelmingly brilliant, but people in the outside world sometimes mistakenly view these individuals to have lost the ability to make rational decisions, viz a viz total brain stupidity.  A frequently held bias by family members, often they might usurp an aphasia sufferer’s God-given right to make decisions for herself (or himself, as the case may be).

Alice gave birth to five children, and many have fallen out of touch with their mother.  One particular daughter, who presently shall remain unnamed, fears for Alice’s safety, especially after a post of how Alice drove alone to express a burning need to remain independent.

When Alice returned, she showed off her prize from shopping at Target, and I was summarily impressed.  There is no question how controlling I can become, and there should be no doubt how much an alpha female Alice can be.  That conflict between the two of us serves as a loving battleground.

Yesterday, this daughter’s fear for her mother’s safety and security metamorphosed into a demand for a date- and time-stamped photo showing Alice alive and well.  The photo under the headline is not so camera-labeled, because it’s meant to entertain readers of this website/blog.

Nevertheless, if Alice’s daughter wants to verify my life partner’s wellbeing, all she need do is call the Blackfish Café in Lincoln City, Oregon, where yesterday, 4/20/15, on a brilliant sun-filled afternoon we celebrated the date with a palate-pleasing lunch of fish and chips (for me, with a beer) and a Philly cheesesteak (for Alice, with a glass of pinot noir).  We are easy to identify, since Alice’s longtime height of 6’3″ turns her into a standout woman.

While we were in Lincoln City, I learned about a sad event that occurred there almost 80 years ago, and a memorial statue and plaque serve as this cautionary tale for anyone who wishes to defy Alice’s inner desires.

In March 1936, a battle-scarred male sea lion came on shore in the little Oregon beach town of Nelscott (where the memorial is erected), and the animal was discovered by resident Dave Dewey.  He named the sea lion Joe, and although Dewey created a fenced-in area for him, Joe soon began exploring other homes in the neighborhood.

This so delighted the townsfolk that they soon discovered that Joe enjoyed being bathed with a garden hose and having his back rubbed with a broom.  The novelty of a wild sea creature’s loving relationship with these residents made the front pages of Portland’s Oregonian newspaper, and soon up to 5,000 curiosity seekers visited the anomaly.

Residents of a nearby town became jealous and complained to a local game warden.  Dutifully, he loaded Joe in a truck, took him back to the ocean and forced Joe to swim away.

Years later, the body of a dead sea lion matching Joe’s wounds (a blind eye and a deep scar on his neck and shoulder) was found in the nearby Sea Lion Caves.  Joe, the Sea Lion of Nelscott, was eventually donated by Suzanne Griffith Allen to the town of Lincoln City, the subsequent name given to the combined five towns that incorporated Joe’s adopted seaside oasis.

The memorial to Joe was erected on August 1, 2014, a fitting reminder what happens when man contradicts a wild creature’s desires.  Indeed, Alice has become my wild creature, and I am pledged to speak for her whenever she cannot.

The idea of writing about Alice’s recovery from aphasia on this website is her idea, not mine.  The decision to move to Oregon from Pennsylvania was her idea, too.

Please honor her wishes as I try to do each day.  It hurts me when others mistake our mutual good intentions.

Thanks.