The Diary of Whitley Barlow

Day #6

I woke up this morning, grabbed my journal and sat down to write. The doctors want me to do this every single day in hopes that it might jog my memory, or at least help me to sort out all of these fears and the uncertainty inside of me. This is still crazy! I can't believe that it has been nearly a week since I have been here... since I have been home.

I think that it has been very therapeutic for me to write, even if it's only been a short amount of time. How else am I supposed to sort through all of this? I am lost and even though there are so many people around me quick to throw out an anchor, how can I trust it? How do I know what is truly real? I'm just not certain of anything really.

I have a list in my head that I repeat to myself every single day. I start out by saying my name. My name is Whitley... Whitley Barlow. I am married. My husband is Elam Barlow and we have two children. My son's girlfriend is living with us and we have a grand baby on the way. That is my life. This is my reality.....

Today as I flipped through the pages of this journal this morning, I saw something that wasn't in my handwriting. Elam must have found my journal laying on my bedside table. In this almost unreadable messy handwriting, he had simply wrote "Don't forget that it was real." and my heart breaks for him once more.

I've seen the picture albums. That was one of the first things they brought to the hospital. I've seen a few home movies. In theory, I can see with my own eyes what lead up to this point, my life being played out... but I cannot feel it. It's like it happened without me... and now I am just here. In the middle of it desperately trying to play catch up.

It's like the pieces to this elaborate puzzle are here... laid out before me... yet somehow I am having a hard time putting the pieces together. Some things are missing or backwards, some feel unreal or just don't make any sense at all. I have gotten a few glimpses... I guess little snaps of memories. But they are always quick and fleeting. This morning I woke to this image of a very young Elam in my dreams, or perhaps my memory. I am uncertain.

We were sitting on the tailgate of a truck and he was smiling at me. His cheeks were flushed. He looked like the spitting image of Jude. His words this morning... "Don't forget that it was real" seem even more haunting. They seem heavy... because he's waiting for something I don't know if I'll ever be able to give. He's waiting for what was before... but for me that has all but been erased. This accident took it all away from me, even temporarily... I pray that it's temporary.

I'm so angry about that. My husband doesn't deserve this... to mourn a wife that is neither here nor gone. And it's crazy really to think of oneself in that way. I am like a ghost, just present in some sort of dimension that only others can see, but I cannot. These people "know" my favorite color, the songs that I like to sing. They know how I like my pancakes and the fact that apparently I cannot stand to walk bare foot. But I do not know these things. I am not certain of them. How I wish that I was!!!!

My children don't deserve to have half a mother because I am neither her, the woman who tucked them in at night or kissed their boo boos... to have been given this new creature. This woman that has no idea how to be a mother, or how to love these children. They don't deserve a mother who doesn't know who she is. And then that just poses even more questions... How does one even find themselves? I'm sure it's hard enough without all this at stake... a family hanging in the balance, relationships on the line and little ones dependent on you in the middle of waking up into the complete unknown.

I just don't know... how do I fix this?