My wife forgot she has amnesia

My wife was in a car accident a few months back. Let me tell you, the shock that comes with finding a loved one in a crumpled mess of a vehicle is not something I would wish upon my worst enemy. I mean, obviously, but still.

I just had to be traumatized. Had to find her hanging upside down while blood dripped from the gaping wound on her forehead. It’s an image I’ll never forget… unlike her…

That’s the thing. She never gave me any signs that she was regaining her memory. No randomly remembering my name, no recalling of her job, just emptiness.

And it’s not like I didn’t try. Day in and day out, I was taking care of her. Nursing her wounds. Feeding her. Bathing her. Keeping her safe at night.

I guess that’s unfair, though. I’d have never been able to afford those medical bills. It was kind of my responsibility to look after her. What was I supposed to do? Bankrupt myself so doctors could do what was effectively common-sense operations? Please.

Even still, I expected she’d at least SOMEWHAT remember the man who pulled her to safety. Acted as her guiding light through what was undoubtedly the most traumatizing event of her life. But no. No, all I received in return from her were cold stares and blank faces.

Didn’t deter me, though. If it was the last thing I did, I was going to see her smile again. Really smile. None of that fake nonsense that she seemed to be doing on purpose.

I started letting her do things. Stand out in the yard. Embrace the outdoors to hopefully trigger some sort of “A-ha” moment. And all she had to offer was the same old “where am I?” nonsense.

I tried cooking her favorite foods, putting on her favorite shows. I even went as far as to sit through the entire Star Wars series because I knew just how much she loved those movies.

I’d laugh at her favorite parts, cry at the saddest ones, all while glancing over at her occasionally to see if she had any kind of spark in her eye, but all I’d ever find were tears and confusion.

Efforts waned, I must admit. I just couldn’t be bothered to try when no effort was being made on her part. I just figured I’d let it all work out naturally instead of trying to force it anymore.

That’s when the notes started. Little sticky note reminders that I’d find around the house.

At first, it was annoying. It was like she was deliberately testing me.

“This isn’t my house.”

“You need to get out.”

Just little things like that, you know?

However, those notes pretty quickly evolved into something that started feeling more and more like an attack on my masculinity.

I’d find em’ on the bathroom mirror, on my nightstand, stuck to each of the 7 master locks I kept on the front door for security. All of them repeating the same thing.

“That’s not your husband.”

“That’s not your husband.”

“That’s not your husband.”

Like, okay. I get it. We’re gonna have to try harder to make you better.

But if you’re reading this…

Don’t worry, sweetheart.

You’ll feel more like yourself soon.