what might come may never come...

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.