It's Amnesia: I Have Forgotten Your Bra Size.

I am going to assume a lot from you in this post, and I'm sorry.  There is a whole lot to say in between the lines, and since I think you are either Lady Elaine, and others who know me well and/or my mother, you probably know the extra, unspoken stuff anyway.

When you have a section of your life taken away with amnesia, most of it comes back.  You have to work hard at some of it, asking questions, looking at pictures, but sometimes it will not come back until you are confronted with it.  It is an odd feeling walking by someone who you don't know but they know you because you went bra shopping with them and they opened up their heart to you at one point in time.  It is odd to get asked the question, "who said I love you first" and you have to turn to your husband and ask him, because you really can't remember.

Or to call and apologize that you didn't celebrate your parent's anniversary, only to be told you actually did.  AND said a rather nice speech.

And then to be told I had agreed to be their power of attorney, and we'd had such a serious conversation about it...and yet, I know nothing about being power of attorney.

So, in sitting with another couple this weekend, talking about old times, I realized that most of my memories have come back.  I remember our wedding and most of the details. I remember living in a honeymoon trailer for six weeks after the wedding, and now I remember somebody destroyed our car and hotel room during the ceremony...but I digress.

Still, almost 12 years after I awoke in the hospital, there are people who I have not come in contact with.  And they wander out there in the world not knowing that I don't know them.  Do they miss me? Did I go bra shopping with them?

A few months ago, in a room filled with people, a woman my age came up to me, and exclaimed, "Oh, I thought it was you!" I had no idea who she was.  Was she from Mr. Man's work? From his group of whatever he's president of?

Then she pulled over another, older lady, and said, "Mom! Remember Erin? She was so-and-so's roommate!" I had a roommate named so-and-so?  I looked to my left for Mr. who had suddenly disappeared.  My source of knowledge was gone and I was a scared deer in the headlights of a foreign car with highlights.

They both looked at me with big, welcoming smiles on their faces, and I must've looked odd because instantly their faces dropped.

"You don't know, do you?" the first woman asked.  I didn't know.  And now I really didn't know.

"So-and-so died," she whispers.  If I remember correctly, she put her hand on my shoulder and tenderly told me of the death of her friend, how her husband up and married the next girl around and is a disgrace to his children, and oh, the children.  She shook her head back and forth.

I had a roommate named so-and-so and she died? "I'm so sorry," I said.  I really was.  "I had no idea."  I really didn't.  Later, after I found Mr. and our friends, and I told them of the conversation, they weren't much help in the information department.  The woman remains nameless, as does her mother.  BUT the roommate has since entered into my memory bank and, yes, I am knocked over that someone so young could pass just like that.  And I didn't even know her.  Well, kinda didn't.

Any good ol' bang on the head can cause amnesia.  Or a stroke or blood clot.  Are you at risk?  Want to know what you can do to prepare yourself?

Things that I have learned in trying to remember:

• Diaries/journals are amazing sources of information.  What ever happened with that guy in University?  Page 10 in the pink booklet - went off to be a bachelor/hermit in the woods.  What happened to your guitar? Page 1 of the purple book - I gave it away.
• Photo albums are a top solution to the memory bank.  You live through photos.  What your mind cannot remember, it absorbs from a photo and works around it to fill in the blanks.  
• Friends and relatives are very important, especially those who have been a part of that time forgotten. They can answer your questions, and in Mr.'s case, give mostly honest answers.  He did try to tell me I promised to make his lunches and iron his shirts.  Not going to happen.
• Lastly, take every moment to cherish your loved ones.  

And for the ones who I haven't seen in the last decade...if I ever see you, I'm sorry.  I don't know your bra size anymore.

Erin

What Erin Forgot

 I recently pulled a book off the shelves of the library, took it home and after reading the first chapter, took it back.  This doesn't happen very often.  What Alice Forgot, is about a 39-year-old woman hitting her head and losing ten years of her memories.  She forgets her marriage, her three children, and anything that went on between the ages of 29 to 39.

Can you imagine??  Forgetting your children?  Or if you do not have children, look back on the last decade of your life and run through all of the changes that have happened. Your job, or jobs.  Your relationships, friends...bad dates.  Places you've lived.  People you've met.  Any wrinkles?  Weight gain?  If I woke up today, I would be shocked by how long it takes me to get out of my arm chair.  And why the heck am I making cakes, instead of teaching math?  But I digress.

Another book, Remember Me? by Sophie Kinsella, is about a young woman waking up in the hospital having forgotten three years of her life.  She discovers she is in extraordinary shape (she can do the splits), is the boss of her company, and is married!  This book, perhaps because it is more entertaining than disturbing, I did not put back on the shelf.

Both my mother and I, at different times, experienced the eery feeling of deja-vous when we read the first chapter of Remember Me?  The idea of losing ones memory for exactly three years is not too far from home.

Although when I woke up I couldn't do the splits.

I joke about my husband being a superhero: an insurance salesman by day, a secret caped crusader by night, Mr. Man.  But really, he has had to be.  Less than a year after he marries the girl of his dreams (ahem) she is rushed to the hospital with what is called a tonic-clonic seizure (previously grand-mal) and wakes up without any memory of the previous three years, forgetting him, their wedding day, and their life together.  

He says he was just happy I wasn't a vegetable.

When the attendant asked me if I knew who Mr. was, I said his name was Robert.  

His name is NOT Robert.

I seemed to know he was important, though, and asked him if we were married.  Strangely enough, I seemed okay with the fact that we were.  We are?  Okay, well then, on to the next thing.  Why does my dad seem so old?

It must be because Mr.'s so darn cute.

We've been married eleven years now, (I remember ten - ha, ha) and have been through a lot together.  And even though I will never be able to do the splits, be the boss of a big company, and never planted a yard full of sunflowers (you need to read the book), our story will always be pretty interesting.

But it's still not funny when I call him Robert.