Friday, February 21, 2014

Memory short story: Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Meet the woman who came to consciousness and remembers nothing of her life.

Photo by Ky
Chapter 2:

The doctors say I'm fine. No head injury, no trauma -- except for that of not remember who I am, of course -- and no physical reason for my lack of memory. It's been 2 days now with no change.  This is what they know. It does not help me.

My husband, as he assures me he is, seems relieved. I'm not, so I don't know how it has calmed him so well. He thinks I will quickly come around if he tells me stories of our lives together. They are lovely stories, but are much like listening to someone talk about a complete stranger. Just anecdotal.

The little girl bothers me the most. She stares up at me with the most stunning green eyes -- the same ones I see when I look in a mirror -- and waits for me to remember her. To love her. Those eyes haunt me. The eyes of the little girl, hurt beyond words, who only wants her mother to know her.

I have no idea who I am. I know certain facts about myself now -- my name is "Karen", my husband is "Steve", and I've been married for 7 years.  Apparently, I'm 35 and a Gemini.

Again, this does not help me.

None of this information helps to quell the panic I am working so hard to hide from everyone. I want to scream, "Yes, I'm right handed and know the words to the national anthem, but WHO am I?"

The man... sorry, Steven, my husband, says I went out to run errands early that morning. We both had the day off so he and the little girl "Julianna" were having a father/daughter fun day while I got groceries. I returned hours later with no groceries and no memory.

All I can think of is: Which came first? Forgetting the groceries or myself?

I have no doubt what they are telling me is true.  The girl's eyes alone could convince me of that. However, I don't know what to do with this information.  I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how.  How to look at the man -- Steven -- and see his hope and longing. How to look at that little girl who breaks my heart.

I thought when people lost their memories they retained their feelings. Like I would instinctively know I was a mother and be able to pick my child out based solely on the love I could feel for that child alone.  This isn't the case, apparently. I cannot do that. I cannot pull the memories of my daughter from the depths of my heart. This is the most agonizing.

I didn't know I could forget love.

Next up:
Chapter 3:
Karen struggles to adapt to "normal" life while the rest of the world goes on.


  1. I could spend all day reading the words you so beautifully weave together.

    When can I buy your book :)

    1. Amy, you are the sweetest and I will keep you in mind when I'm published!

  2. Well done! This is a brilliant thread. (Also, I love the picture.)

    1. Thanks, Wynn Anne. I hope it continues. Ky took the picture years ago. It's awesome.


As much as I like to hear myself talk, I like to hear from you too!