The Diary of Whitley Barlow

Day #1

They tell me, well the doctors that is.... they tell me that my name is Whitley. Whitley Barlow. They gave me this journal to sit down and write in hopes that it might jog my memory. Maybe I'll remember who I really am. But I just don't know. Nothing has come back to me since the accident.

There is a lot that I don't know, like why does my hair smell like jasmine? Why does this man sitting across from me not take me into his arms? He is supposed to be my husband? Why is he so cold and distant towards me. I was just in an accident. I nearly died. Shouldn't that wake someone up?

I have sat in a room for the last three days listening to people telling me stories of who I am. Stories I cannot recall. Stories I don't know if I can even believe.

I am a mother. I have a teenage son, whom is about to be a father himself and a 2 year old daughter named Raiya. How could I have liked that name? It sounds so awful. But these children look at me like I am their mother. Like I have some kind of answer for them. But I don't.

Moments after waking up, they placed this sleeping child into my arms, whom I discovered was hungry. She snuggled into my chest much to my freight, but knew exactly what she was doing as she nursed. It was the strangest feeling to have this stranger attached to me, but as she intertwined her chubby little fingers into my hair it almost felt second nature. But to what? I cannot remember a single thing about who I was and who these people are in front of me. I felt absolutely nothing for them in the way of love and affection. But how can one feel love to someone you don't know, to complete strangers?

I can't believe that I am still breast feeding. I don't see me being someone who would chose to breast feed my child. Not to mention the fact that she was big enough to walk around by herself. But this is where I am.

My "son"and his very pregnant girlfriend drove me home from the hospital today. My husband had to work. I was welcomed with balloons and a banner that read "welcome home momma". They were all so excited for me to return, yet this feels nothing like home to me.We live in a small two bedroom trailer. In the middle of a trailer park. I can't even look out the window unless you look directly into the neighbors house.

Me, Raiya and my husband occupy the back bedroom, and yes this child still sleeps with us. I asked.And apparently on my watch no less, my teenage son and his girlfriend sleep in the other room together. No wonder she's pregnant. How could I let this happen? He is much too young for such responsibility. How is he ever going to be able to raise a child and provide for him, and his girlfriend? Does he even have a job? Is this man I am supposedly married to supporting us all?

And that brings me to my husband, to the fact that I am legally tied to this man that I cannot recall. Elam is a quite man. He doesn't talk much. He tends to avert his eyes when he talks to me. Does he feel that I am a stranger to him much the same as I do to him? But I see hope there in his eyes. Hope that maybe I will return. Hope that somehow everything will go back to normal now that I am home and on the mend.

But what do I see? I see four stranger in this house, waiting on me to wake up. I see four sets of eyes watching every move I make. I see so much uncertainty. What am I supposed to do here? I cannot leave. I have endured a head injury. I haven't regained my strength from the accident. I cannot go home. I don't know where home is. They tell me this is my home, but how can I be sure of that? How can I be sure of anything?