I Think I Know Who I Am

During one of our last July trips to Family Camp in West Michigan in the early 2000s, we were experiencing an extreme heatwave. Families were hanging out at the pool or the little lake on the grounds of camp, trying to catch that breeze coming off the water that would be a few degrees cooler than the rest of the air around us, but that breeze would not wake up.

The air was heavy. Limbs of trees just hung there, exhausted from the heat. My mom would say you could dip into the thick, soupy air with a spoon.

I tried to sing along with the camp songs in the morning while our children were off on their bikes playing games with their friends, but all I wanted was to escape to the one place I knew had air conditioning: Carrie and Todd’s trailer. We had slept fitfully in our stuffy cabin the night before, so I needed a break where I could breathe a minute and maybe close my eyes and rest. Carrie saw my need, and likely felt the same, so a few of us made our way to her trailer and got comfortable with a glass of lemonade and started one of our marathon board games of Risk. After a short break, I needed to run back to my cabin to grab a few things for later because I planned to stay parked in the trailer for a while. Rather than exert too much energy running back and forth, I grabbed hold of Todd’s bike and took off.

That is the last thing I remember until I woke up, sort of, lying on the ground with quite a few people looking at me, including my husband, Craig, who was having a panicky melt down, only I did not know who this man was. I just knew I wanted him to calm down—he seemed so loud right in front of my face.  Someone else had the back of my neck and head between his hands, holding me securely in place. A woman, who seemed quite official, was asking me all kinds of questions: “What is your name? Do you know where you are? What happened? How old are you?”  I couldn’t answer any of the questions except the last one: “Um . . .thirty-something, I think.” At least I felt somewhere around thirty-something.

After some seizure-like activity, I stopped breathing for a minute, and the ambulance had not yet arrived. The man holding my neck was preparing to administer CPR when I awoke again. I still did not know who anyone was, including my children who were nearby but shuffled off to the side by friends to protect them from the trauma of what was happening to their mother. Paramedics finally arrived, strapped me onto the board, and loaded me into the ambulance. They kept asking me names of important people, like my daughters. They said if I could remember, they would let the girls come and hug me before we left for the hospital. So I tried really hard, and the names came to me. I told the girls I would be fine and would see them after a quick hospital visit.

Carrie stayed back at camp with my girls, and our two friends, Sher and Todd, followed the ambulance so they could support Craig at the hospital. They were in the room when I was getting settled, and by the time I completed a few scans, memories of who everyone was were taking shape again, though the details of the accident never did form. Sher sat on the side of my bed holding my hand, and Carrie’s husband, Todd, sat near Craig on my other side.  I knew this couple in the room was not quite the right combination. I kept looking at our friends and thinking, I don’t think those two go together. I finally asked, “You two are not married, right?” They laughed and told me that, of course, I was right. They just jumped in the car together as Carrie volunteered to keep the children. Phew, I thought, I’m not losing my mind. But when they told me all about the accident, that I did not even try to break my fall as my own kids found me lying sideways in the road, holding onto the handlebars as if still riding the bike, none of that story seemed real.

I went about the next few days, moving very slowly, feeling like I hit a Mac truck, always thinking, what is real? What if I am in a coma and this is all a dream? Everyone described the accident, and I had to trust their word, but I felt they could have told me anything. How do I know what’s true? They could have told me that Sher and Todd were the husband and wife team, and I would have had to trust that my perception was wrong. They could have told me that Craig was my husband when he really was not. How would I figure out the truth? They could have told me I was not the daughter of my parents but someone all together different. Though it might not sit right with me, I would have believed them because anything my friends told me about this accident was just as sincere but, at the same time, totally foreign to me, like it could be all made up. For a while, I felt like I didn’t know who I truly was. It took some time for me to sort out memories and order all the files in my head so that I could confidently say, I know who I am.

Life events can sometimes barge in and shake that foundation, but I remind myself—I am who I always was.