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Chapter 3: Unfamiliarity and Limbo

Dennis stood in front of their house, staring as if in a trance, trying to make some sense of what he was seeing. He had no recollection of having ever seen this place before. Leslie was already inside, bustling about and putting away all their things. 

"Come on, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentle yet insistent.

He stared at her, unable to process what she was saying. He still had no idea who he was or what his past was supposed to be.

"I'm scared," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded and pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him. "It's okay," she said. "We'll figure this out. I'm here with you, sweetheart. But please stay here and finish unpacking," she added, as she grabbed her purse. "I'm going to your office, I'll be back tonight."

He felt a chill run down his spine. He had never been alone in a new place before rather than the hospital. He tried to put on a brave face.

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before she walked out the door, he had no chance to decline. He sighed and turned back to their house. He shook his head as he watched her close the door. He still found it hard to believe that he was married to her. He had only known her since he saw her in the hospital, and it felt so strange to him. 

As the door shut behind her, he felt a sudden wave of loneliness and confusion. He felt like he was in a dream, and his life before was slowly slipping away from him. 

“What am I doing here?” he thought to himself. 

He looked around the house and saw all the unfamiliar objects. He tried to remember what his old home was like, but he couldn't recall any of the details. He suddenly felt the urge to inspect the things in the house that can remind him of his past, of his life before this moment.

He walked around the living room, looking at the furniture, the decorations, and the paintings on the wall. He ran his fingers along the edges of the couch, feeling the smooth fabric and thinking of the countless conversations they might have had while sitting there. He tried remembering what day they bought the couch, how much excitement they felt, and the future they might think they would have together.

He slowly walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, letting out a deep sigh. He looked around the room, and all of a sudden his thoughts were interrupted. Their bedroom!

He moved further into the house and walked upstairs to open the door of their bedroom. He could still smell her perfume and feel her presence in the room he was forced to familiarize himself with. He thought of all the nights they may be spending together back then, the laughter they shared, and the love they had for one another. He felt a lump in his throat, realizing he may never feel that way again.

He sat down on the bed before standing again to look out of the window. There was the unfamiliar park, the unfamiliar trees, unfamiliar neighboring houses, and the unfamiliar backyard that he cannot remember. Suddenly, a tear rolled down his cheek. 

“Why can't I remember?” he whispered. 

He was desperate for answers, desperate to regain the memories he had lost. He read books, visited websites, and joined an online support group for help and companionship. He desperately wanted to make sense of what had happened to him.

He was afraid. Every second that passed, he felt a little more lost and alone, as if he was slowly slipping away from himself, drifting further and further away from his past.

He sat again in the safety of his bedroom, scrolling through the online support group he previously joined through his laptop. He had been drawn to this group for its anonymous nature and the comfort of feeling like he was among people who could understand his struggles.

At the start, he felt like he was talking to a wall. He would pour out his heart and no one would respond. After a few hours, though, he started to get replies, and slowly he started to feel a little better.

He read through the posts, occasionally chiming in with his own experiences. He felt a sense of relief when others shared stories that sounded like his own. 

He was feeling particularly low right now. That was when one of the members of the group said something that made him pause as if he read something that made his stomach drop. 

“Dennis, you have been through a lot and, understandably, you feel like there's no hope. But it's important to remember that things could have been a lot worse. You are lucky that you're still here, still fighting and that takes a lot of strength and courage,” one post read.

He was taken aback by the statement. How was he supposed to feel better about his situation if he was constantly reminded that it could have been worse? It had never been comforting. It had only made him feel low.

He looked around the room, desperately searching for an answer. He felt a pang of fear as he realized that nobody was there to answer his questions. He closed his laptop and lay back on his bed, his head spinning. He felt so alone.

He wished he could find a way to make himself feel better, but he had no idea how. Still, everyone told him he was having a very normal recovery. How was it normal?

This was not normal and he was not lucky.

But the idea of being “lucky” didn’t seem to make sense. He was still missing pieces himself, and he felt like his life was in limbo.

He couldn’t help but feel angry and frustrated. He knew he had to keep trying, but he felt like he was running out of options to move forward. He spent the rest of the day doing nothing and knowing nothing at all.

He sat on the couch in the living room that night, looking out the open door and waiting for his wife to come home from work. He was confused and scared, feeling like he was in a dream, but not able to wake up. He wished he could remember who she was, and what they meant to each other, but try as he might, nothing came back to him.

He saw Leslie arrive home and immediately felt the anxiousness on him. He sighed as he glanced over to his wife whose expression was an uncomfortable mixture of sadness and anxiety.

"I'm late, sweetheart. Sorry, I took over your job since you cannot work now." she greeted, unenergized. He knew she was tired.

"What do you mean?" he asked with confusion etching every word, deepening. "What was it I did before? I can't even remember…"

His wife gave a heavy sigh. "Let's just eat first, you may be hungry," she said gently and presented him with the food that she had brought outside for them to share. "Did you eat already?"

He shook his head, and said in a low voice, "I already ate. Sorry but I want to be alone right now."

He saw her change her expression from being tired to hopeless. She walked through the couch he was sitting on to the table next to the TV.

"I know that you were struggling to make a sense of what was happening," she placed the meal down on the table, and said, "I understand you, Dennis. I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything. After that, I'll go to bed."

He watched her leave and felt a sense of guilt. He knew he was hurting her, but he couldn't bring himself to remember who she was. He felt overwhelmed and scared, and he was desperate to get his memories back. But this woman doesn't seem to be the right person who can answer him.

He felt some sort of sadness as he realized he had no recollection of how they met, how they fell in love, or anything else of their life together at all. It must hurt on her part.

He sighed deeply and walked out of the house, deciding to take a walk outside and clear his mind.

The night air was cold and he wrapped his coat tightly around himself. He walked for what felt like an hour, the silence of the night bringing him comfort. He wondered what had happened to him and what had caused him to forget his memories. He was afraid to find out.

Suddenly, it hit him. He returned to their bedroom, feeling a little calmer. He stood in the doorway for a few moments, watching her now sleep, her face peaceful and calm in the dim light. He thought of how she must have felt, worrying about him and not knowing what had happened.

He walked towards her to have a closer look, her gentle breathing a reminder of his new reality. His fingers lingered above her face, tracing the contours of her features. He realized that she was a stranger to him now, yet he could not bring himself to leave her alone.

His heart ached for her and he decided that he would do whatever it took to regain his memories. But he vowed it for himself since he didn't know her that well in this state of mind he was in.

Nothing felt normal. He was living with a woman he had never met before and had no recollection of. He was expected to feel the normal feeling of a husband staying at home with his wife but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

He slowly rolled over, careful not to wake her, and stared out the window at the unfamiliar city skyline. He had no idea what he had done before this, or what he was supposed to do now. He was completely lost and confused.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart. He knew he had to try and make sense of his new life, but he was so scared. What if he was never able to recover and was stuck like this forever?

He slowly turned his head and saw her sitting on their bed, awakened. She had worry written all over her face, her eyes searching his. He could tell that she was concerned about him.

He tried to smile, but his lips just wouldn't stretch into one. He just couldn't bring himself to tell her what he was thinking. That he was scared of his life and what it had in store for them in this state.

He wanted to put his arms around her and tell her everything because she was his wife. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. She slowly stood and walked towards him, patting his right shoulder with a smile.

He just stood there, numb, as she put her arms around him and asked him softly, "Are you alright, sweetheart?"