Sometimes he
doesn't see me. When I say that I don't mean he can't see me, I mean he doesn't
know who I am. It happens most often after a longer flashback. It’s not fun.
He told me
once about how he lost a couple of years and found himself at the house he'd
shared with his ex-wife before they’d divorced. She was wide-eyed about him
walking in unexpected. I imagine for her it was distressing but for him even
more so. For a moment the woman he'd loved didn't know him; didn’t want him
there; didn’t love him back. I've felt that. I've looked into his eyes more
than a few times and found myself a stranger.
He shrinks
from my touch when it happens and regards me with suspicion. It's frightening
for the simple reason that the possibility exists that he might stay that way,
that our years together could be wiped clean in the blink of a flashback. What
do I do then? Other than convince him he's got to see a doctor, I'm not sure
what course I would take. This fear leads me to want to carry our marriage
license; leads me to want him to wear a medic alert bracelet with my phone
number; makes me want to never let him leave the house alone ever again. But I
can't do these things. I need a normal life as much as he does. I need to be
able to smile as he goes out and not be paralyzed with worry. And that's what I
do. I smile and I put the possibility out of my mind though upon his return I
can feel the invisible truck drive off my chest.
I know I’ve
written about this before but each time it happens it’s like the first. As strange as it sounds I’ve grown
accustom to his seizures, his flashbacks, his bouts of anger. But this, this not knowing me, not
loving me, I can’t get used to it.
I don’t want to get used to it.
I’ve accepted he’ll have certain symptoms for the rest of his life. I’m okay with that. I signed up knowing about them. Hell, I signed up knowing about this. He’d spent time before we were married
struggling to find me in his memories.
And I’ll muddle through, but I don’t want to get used to it.
So what do we
do when the person we love has something we can’t get used to but have to
accept. Do we ignore? Do we get upset? Or do we push it aside after the
initial sting? What is the
healthiest option?
I suspect my best path is to keep the bridge in sight but to
not worry about it until I am forced to cross. Being prepared is always more desirable than letting things
blindside you. But sometimes you
can’t be prepared no matter how much worry and thought you put into
possibilities. So, in light of
that, I’ll continue to write and put thought into what may come, but I’m going
to try and keep that truck parked elsewhere. After all, worry is a waste of time.
