I
t’s that time again! Time to gather around the table and share some juicy tidbits of fiction with the folks of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can find other small tales of wonder, and danger at: rochellewisoff.com. Come on out and join us! This week’s photo is loaned to us by : Roger BultotWc: 52
Detritus
They say this is where they found me, the detritus of humanity piled around me.
I don’t remember.
They said I was barely alive.
I don’t remember.
They said I was attacked by an unknown assailant.
I don’t remember.
Today, I came, hoping to jog my memory.
and still…
I don’t remember.
Author’s note: I listened to a podcast that discussed the aftereffects of Traumatic Brain Injury this week. (Where was this kind of discussion 27 years ago when I needed it so bad???) It was very poignant, and in it I saw a bit of myself… well, more than a little bit. And it left me feeling so very grateful for all the people in my life who have supported my recovery, and stood by me through the years. You fellow authors are among the top on my list! Your words of support, and patience while I relearned words, and how to write them, was huge. So, THANK YOU!
The above story reflects a bit of what it is like not to have memories. It is difficult and it’s something people who haven’t experienced it truly cannot fully grasp. And, if you’re a friend of one who has no memory… do me a huge favor… don’t push the issue. It won’t do any good, and only cause undo stress for the person. Okay, putting my little soap box away.
Happy 2023, Hope y’all have a really great year ahead!
Chaos Central Command 
Nicely done, Bear. But, sorry to read of your challenge. Memory is an interesting topic. And damaged or traumatized, even more so.
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Loved the piece, and best wishes for your year ahead ❤
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This was eye openning for me.
Thank you for sharing your experience.
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Memory is endlessly fascinating, what it chooses to remember and bury.
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That is true, Lain. I can remember my first surgery at Age 3, but don’t remember my wedding at age 25. I remember how to put the ingredients together for cooking a meal, but fail to remember temp or how long to cook (or, that I have the stove on). I stopped going back home because I would want to visit someone only to find out that I didn’t remember they’d died, even though I’d been to their funeral. It’s something you can’t necessarily “see”, but it is often disabling.
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Good storytelling and sorry that it is not entirely fictional for you.
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Sometimes, the best fiction comes from reality… and sometimes visa versa, eh. Thanks for stopping by.
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Indeed! ❤ You're welcome.
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Your writing rings home. 10 years ago I was found on the garage floor. Didn’t remember anything. A Japanese new year celebration was taking place next door (In my mind only as it turned out).
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Thanks for sharing! Soap boxes are fine! How else can we know someone else’s POV.
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Bear, as both a teacher and a counselor, I worked with a few people who’d suffered traumatic brain injuries. The amazing thing is what can be regained with dedicated therapy and determination. Loved your post.
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Dear Bear,
I have to say, I’ve watched you come through a lot through your writing and a budding friendship. This really is a brilliant bit. Thank you for being so open and honest with your struggles.
BTW, I’m back to writing as I have a book under contract that’s in need of editing. This same publisher might be interested i publishing “our Bear Starfire and Asher’s story.” Your help with that was amazing.
Shalom and blessings,
Rochelle
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Wow, the frustration here is palpable. Nicely done. And what a horrible thing to have happened. The mind is a powerful yet fragile thing.
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Yes, it is, Laurie. It’s odd to live with memory loss, surrounded by people who know you, yet you haven’t a clue. One of the reasons that we moved so far from “home” was for that reason. No one knew me, and there wasn’t the pressure to be who they thought I was, when I wasn’t and am not the same.
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The fog of the mind can be very frustrating, as you so clearly described. wishing you strength to write,
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