Death and Memories
Memories
Memories remain till the end, even when we are robbed of everything. In times of distress we look back on our old days of happiness and survive. Memories are made each moment we live. They might be good or they might be horrible, each one of us have our own memories, a way to live on.
Memory is the diary of our souls, in which are contained all pleasures, pains, trials and troubles of our past. Unfortunately, I did not have the luxury to look back upon my life, for I, no matter how unusual it sounded was robbed off my memories. All I knew, as I sat in that hideous hospital gown, was what others had told me. I had been in an accident a month ago which had caused me to forget. I hhad no memory of who I had been.
I was told that I was a surgeon, thirty one years old, not that I could use this profession anymore because of my memory. I was also told that I had been married once but unfortunately my husband had died in the accident that changed my life. I felt no pain or grief when I discover that my husband was deceased. I felt like a monster, but what could I do? I had no idea who he was.
A girl, about twenty years old visited me every day claiming that she was my sister. She brought pictures of me as a child and tried very hard to make me remember my previous life. I would smile, for her sake and act as if I knew what she was telling me. She was not stupid; she knew it was all an act and so she would give up and return the next day more determined than ever.
Days passed by, even the doctors were tired of me and had given up on their pursuit. They discharged me and my sister took me to my house, which I knew nothing of, of course. It was indeed a beautiful house just like my little sister had described it to be and at that moment I felt angry for losing my memories. It seemed to me that my life before the trauma had been perfect and I had no memory of it.
My sister showed me my room where I quietly stayed. As I was curious about my old and forgotten
Memories remain till the end, even when we are robbed of everything. In times of distress we look back on our old days of happiness and survive. Memories are made each moment we live. They might be good or they might be horrible, each one of us have our own memories, a way to live on.
Memory is the diary of our souls, in which are contained all pleasures, pains, trials and troubles of our past. Unfortunately, I did not have the luxury to look back upon my life, for I, no matter how unusual it sounded was robbed off my memories. All I knew, as I sat in that hideous hospital gown, was what others had told me. I had been in an accident a month ago which had caused me to forget. I hhad no memory of who I had been.
I was told that I was a surgeon, thirty one years old, not that I could use this profession anymore because of my memory. I was also told that I had been married once but unfortunately my husband had died in the accident that changed my life. I felt no pain or grief when I discover that my husband was deceased. I felt like a monster, but what could I do? I had no idea who he was.
A girl, about twenty years old visited me every day claiming that she was my sister. She brought pictures of me as a child and tried very hard to make me remember my previous life. I would smile, for her sake and act as if I knew what she was telling me. She was not stupid; she knew it was all an act and so she would give up and return the next day more determined than ever.
Days passed by, even the doctors were tired of me and had given up on their pursuit. They discharged me and my sister took me to my house, which I knew nothing of, of course. It was indeed a beautiful house just like my little sister had described it to be and at that moment I felt angry for losing my memories. It seemed to me that my life before the trauma had been perfect and I had no memory of it.
My sister showed me my room where I quietly stayed. As I was curious about my old and forgotten