Tuesday, Nov. 08, 2005 - 10:20 a.m.
A funny thing about her
I remembered that day all to well. They said I needed to get out of the bed and I needed to walk to the chair and sit. Having been torn open two or three days earlier I was in no mood to take anyone's orders, let alone move.
Funny to think I wish I couldn't remember and her, on the other side of the world of me wishing she could recall every little detail I would tell her, 'No you don't darling, because when you get the memories you also get the pain.'
She's stubborn, she probably wouldn't listen to me but she'd reach out for my hand and squeeze it. It's her way of telling me 'Thank you for always trying to protect me.' Her actions have a funny way of speaking to me.
I remember when that stupid med student pulled off the huge bandages and gauzes that were covering where the doctors had demolished. I remember looking down at my split stomach thinking it resembled the Grand Canyon. I recall my mother's grip suddenly tightening on my hand. She ran out and I later found out why.
I look back at the girl with no memory, look at her and say, 'Nah, you wouldn't want to remember.'(9-16-05)
