Lesson #16: Remembering

“You hit a patch of oil on the road,” they say. “You went into the other lane. You hit head on.”

 

“You were on 119, almost home,” they say. “You are in the hospital in Pittsburgh. You're going to be okay.”

“What happened?” they keep asking.

“I can’t remember,” I say.

Remember. Memory. The one thing I long for the hardest right now. If only it would come back to me. If I could just dream it into existence, then I could answer everyone’s questions. The constant nagging would end. I could answer my own questions, the ones that tend to keep me up at night. What happened that day?

Our memory is something we never really stop to think about. It is just something that exists. But it is so easy for things to slip from our memories. Small details that once made a memory dissipate. Dates, times, words, tend to fade. What makes a memory? Why is it that your mind selects certain moments to put in the save box over others? Why is it my mind chose to avoid the time of 1:31 pm, November 23^rd, 2012?

“This type of thing happens all the time,” they say. “Your mind closes off to avoid the trauma.”

 

“It may come back to you over time,” they say. “Some experience dream recollection.”

Dream recollection? My experience might come back to me in a dream?  Aren’t dreams viewed as light, fluffy, upbeat interruptions of sleep? You wake up from a dream yearning for something or excited for what may happen. You don’t wake from a dream shaking and screaming, terrified of what did happen. My “dream recollection” would be more of a nightmare. To remember might scare the shit out of me at first. I may wake in a sweat, gasping for breath. It may hurt to remember, but I know remembering will help me to heal. I want to heal, to be able to move on.

I don’t want to remember. I need to remember. I need to know why I was in the oncoming lane. Was I forced over? Did I swerve to avoid the patch? I need to know if I tried to dodge the truck. Did I see the truck? Did he see me? Did I break? Did I attempt to diverge back over? I need to know who was there. Was I conscious when they found me? Did we talk? I need to know.

 “Have you had any memory recall about the accident?” they say.

“No. Nothing,” I respond.

“You know, you may never remember and that’s okay,” they say.

It’s not okay.

“I just need to remember,” I say.