There were several t.v. shows about it when I was young. Someone gets a knock on the head and forgets who he is. It was spun as comedic but not entirely tragic. More recently there have been a string of movies that cast it in a more debilitating light.
Amnesia is when you forget the unforgettable: who you are, your history, your family, your pain. You try to reel in the details but they are gone.
But amnesia comes in short doses too.
A woman, when she is in labor, has sorrow because her hour has come; but as soon as she has given birth to the child, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world.
-John 16
That happened to me. Repeatedly. In trying now to dredge up the recollection of what it was like to be in active labor eight times without so much as an aspirin I come up empty. I could try to conjure up frothy analogies about how it felt but I would be faking it, because the truth is I forget.
There are other parts of my life that have melted away. Caring for my aging and manic mother was exhausting for awhile. At least I think it was. There were issues with incontinence, 911 and mood swings that left ugly splotches amid the more savory moments sharing tea and nostalgia. But actually, the skirmishes have settled out like sediment at the bottom of a river. The feelings no longer muddy the memories. I can report to you that it was difficult but I don't actually remember.
Marriages are sometimes a place of pain. We can attach ourselves to the conclusion that this is a sign of failure. But maybe, and I suggest this gently, pain is part of how we get to birth. There are enough stories of marriages that emerged from the debris of grief that look up like a wide eyed daughter, slippery with vernix and wet kisses, to assure me that pain is not an exorbitant price to pay for innocence.
