I can’t remember anything. When my husband asked if had any objection to his turning off the electric fireplace I assured him I didn’t and asked when he turned it on.
“I didn’t, you did,” he answered.
“I didn’t do it.”
He nodded at me, reiterating his belief.
“When?” I asked.
“A little while ago. You were shivering and you turned on the fireplace just before you pulled the afghan over your legs.”
Did I? I asked myself. I tried hard to remember. Tried to picture myself getting up from the love seat and crossing the room. No image would come through. My mind was blank and no matter how hard I tried I could not remember. As far as I was concerned it never happened. I’m sure if I were to take a polygraph test and asked if I turned the fireplace on the result would be non- deceptive when I answered, no.
“Let it go,” my husband said. “It’s okay. You’re stressed with grief and you haven’t slept. Let it go.”
I wanted to. Part of me believed him when he said I did it. Part of me continued to protest. I didn’t want to admit that I could physically do something and not remember it. If I could do what he said I did what else might I do? What else had I done? The idea of not being in control of my thoughts or memories scared me.
Then it happened again. I called one of my sons several times throughout the day to tell him of his Grandfather’s passing. Not only did he not pick up but the answering machine wasn’t on so I couldn’t even leave a message asking him to call me. Several hours later when he phoned I was surprised to see his name on the caller I.D.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Did you hear what happened?”
“Only what you said in your message,” he answered.
What messsage? I wondered. No one answered when I called. I didn’t let on that I didn’t know what he was talking about. I filled him in on the events leading up to Dad’s death and about the funeral arrangements and I told him several times how much I love him. When the call ended I puzzled over his comment about message for a long time. Did someone answer the phone when I called? If so, who? What did I say? Panic started to set in. What else did I do? Who did I call? Mercifully, a thought started to come through the haze.
I checked my email. In the “sent” file was a message to him with the words call me in the message line. The rest of the message read, “It’s about my Dad.” I felt a brief moment of relief knowing I hadn’t written anything inappropriate before that question rose in me again.
What else have I done? So far I’m not aware of any more lapses but I can’t dispute the possibility that there are more. So if you reference a message from me or I don’t remember a conversation, please bear with me. I’ve temporarily lost my mind.