Failing to recall

Something had been bothering me, it was one of those annoying feelings, you know that sensation of knowing deep in your gut? Or maybe a more accurate description would be those times where you feel as though you've forgotten something, but for the whole life of you you simply can't remember what you're missing, that's where I've been for almost the whole last week. 

In the beginning I thought I could ignore it, I was just leaving my house when I felt as though something was missing. I thoroughly patted myself down to assure myself I hadn't left anything behind, I was always prone to forgetting my keys or leaving without my phone so this feeling wasn't alien to me, but I soon came to find I had everything I needed, and my head was surely still attached so I carried on my day and tried to shake the thoughts. As my day progressed I found myself becoming distracted, usually when I get this feeling it either fades in a few moments after leaving home, or at worst case it dissipates upon the terrible realisation that I really did leave something essential in my abode. But this just wasn't passing, with every minute that flashed by the intensity of the desperation to remember seemed to grow. 

After work I headed home, half hoping the feeling in my gut would disappear with the opening of my front door. I soon found myself to be wrong, if anything the feeling became worse upon my arrival home, I sighed to myself in a rather sorry fashion and wondered if I was perhaps ill instead of missing something. After about an hour spent trying to unwind I found myself falling into sleep, a smile graced the corners of my mouth as I realised that I must of course be ill, I let the sensations of snooze overtake my body, content to finally escape the discomfort of my stomach. 

There was no escape. My dreams appeared fevered, they couldn't have been classed as full blown nightmares, however I would still be hesitant to call what I experienced "dreams". And though I seemed to be in full waking consciousness while I was in dream land I still struggled to recall what I'd witnessed, the only recollections I had at all were a flash of my Mother's face and the words "don't forget". I reflected upon the meanings of my memories, I quickly checked the calendar to make sure I wasn't about to miss my Mother's birthday or any other such major life event, but that wasn't it. To make it worse the sensations in my gut had amplified upon waking. 

I made myself a large breakfast as I hadn't eaten the night before after my acquiesce to sleep and I hoped - though rather feebly - that the real problem would simply be hunger pangs. Eating was a struggle, I forced my meal down, with much discomfort, knowing at the very least I was doing my body some nutritional good. Once I finally finished the last bite I looked at the clock, it would soon be time for me to leave for work, I hung my head slightly and gripped my stomach. I was sure the feeling was psychological but that didn't make it any easier to deal with. After a few moments frozen in an uncomfortable statuesque form I pulled myself together and headed out the door. 

Upon exiting my house and entering the world I felt the crushing weight of forgetting even more intensely, I rapidly investigated my pockets once more, only to find I had everything I needed, my shoulders slumped as my hopes for relief were dashed once more and I went on my way again. I was distracted for the whole day at work, it was probably my least productive day of all time, I was grateful to be in an office alone, most of the time I hated my position of isolation but today and yesterday I was pleased in my solitude. 

As the working day drew itself to a close I found myself in a state of upset, I just wanted the horrible pain in my stomach to stop, if I had no way to remember what I was missing couldn't the feeling just go away? I trudged off home, hoping to feel better but knowing I wouldn't, I had already begun to crave sleep as a means of escape. As I walked I heard my phone ring, I checked to see who was calling and saw it was my Father. I felt bad, but I shoved my phone back in my pocket, I swore to myself I'd call him back the next day when I felt better, as guilty as I felt there was no way I wanted to talk to anyone while feeling like this. 

I got back home and headed inside, I was almost praying for relief, or at least for things to not get any worse, but as the night progressed I knew no such comfort was coming for me. I decided not to eat, I simply couldn't bear to feel multiple stomach discomforts simultaneously. I decided to sit and put some serious concerted effort into figuring out exactly what I was forgetting, but after not very long sleep came for me once again and I didn't have the drive or desire to fight it. 

My gut seemed to have a strange effect on my dreams for the second night in a row, though I struggled to remember every detail upon waking a few features stuck out to me, the first was a scream that still seemed to echo through my mind followed by the colour orange, the last detail was another few words "realise, please, accept". I shook my head to try and ward off the last vestiges of slumber and was quickly snapped back to reality by that familiar feeling in my stomach. I got up and went to go get breakfast fixed, I decided on something small, I knew I needed to eat more but with my body feeling the way it was I just couldn't bear to face much food. I checked my phone and saw I had a few more missed calls from my Father, he was calling while I was asleep last night, for a moment I was shocked to realise I'd had eleven hours of sleep, that was unlike me. Normally I'd only get around five, I wondered if I was wearing myself out and if that was the true reason for my current state of discomfort. I decided to call the doctor and book myself in for an appointment, then I rang work and informed them I was too sick to make it, I'd been nervous to make that call but they were more understanding than I ever could have anticipated which struck me as a little odd. If anything I got the impression they saw this coming and I wondered how they could have been aware of my failing health before myself. I at least felt relieved at being able to stay in and just sleep away the pain. I texted my Father and told him I was too ill to talk and that I'd call him as soon as I felt well again, then I headed back off to bed, eager to leave my consciousness behind. 

I awoke in absolute panic with sweat flooding down my face, my hair was drenched, my gut stabbed and I desperately clutched it. I wanted to scream, I knew I wasn't sick, I knew that wasn't it, but what was it? What am I missing? I looked at the clock, and then I realised sunlight was streaming into my room, I frantically looked around me, it was eight thirty, that meant I slept for a whole day! I threw myself out of bed but then I quickly collapsed back down onto the mattress. I was struck again by flashes of dream sequences, I tried to grasp any meaning I could, hoping what I was forgetting would come back to me, but there was no luck, I couldn't draw any sense from anything I saw, the only solid image I was left with was a single white lily on the grassy ground. I shook my head and stood myself back up, I had a doctor's appointment to make, I knew work didn't want me back for the rest of the week so I at least didn't have to stress about that. 

I didn't eat breakfast before I left, as I locked my door I nearly dropped to my knees under the strain of forgetfulness, my gut knew I was missing something, it was what, four days of this now? Why is there no respite? I have to be forgetting something surely? I gave myself another full body pat down, but I had everything I needed so, defeated, I went on my way to the doctor's office. As I walked, the closer I ventured the worse the feeling got, when I was only ten minutes away the sensations grew to be so severe I decided to turn back. I knew the staff at the surgery would be annoyed at me for cancelling so short notice but I had to go with my gut. At that point it elevated above a feeling of forgetfulness into one of alertness and danger, I went from mildly discomforted to deeply disturbed, all I wanted was to be back at home. As I set off back home I called the doctor's office and lied and told them I was too sick to even leave bed, I apologised but the woman working the reception phone seemed to be overly concerned. I assured her I was fine and would rebook my appointment as soon as I was fit enough to leave the house, she didn't seem too pleased with that and tried to encourage me to come in for an appointment later in the day but I told her there was no way I could physically do that, she seemed pained but let it go and told me she hoped to hear from me soon. As I ended the call with her, my Father, as if by magic, started calling me. I felt terrible once again but I let it go to voicemail, I had a lot of missed calls from him that came while I slept away the whole day before, I knew he must be worried about me but I just couldn't bear to face anyone. 

As I arrived back home I drafted him up another text, I told him I was still far too sick to call and assured him I would be in touch as soon as I could get myself out of bed. I couldn't bring myself to listen to his myriad messages left on my voicemail, I knew he was most likely trying to guilt trip me into talking, and I knew if I heard his voice I wouldn't be able to help but call him back. After sending the text I went off to get a morsel to eat, I knew it wouldn't help me feel better but I knew I had to keep eating. As I sat down with my cereal I saw my phone start to ring again, it was my Father, I turned my phone face down and pretended I couldn't hear it, I was starting to get a bit annoyed, why wouldn't he get the message? After I was done with my meal I dragged myself back to bed, I just wanted to escape, I didn't even understand how I could be so tired all the time. 

I must've fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, when I awoke I was met once again by sunlight, at first I assumed I'd only had a couple of hours rest, but when I saw the clock I realised I'd slept for another full day. I tried to bring back the memories of my dreams, it had been yet another night of crazy vividity within my dreamscape. As I struggled with recall one image stuck in my mind, it was my Father with tears streaming down his face. Though the sensation of forgetting remained in my gut, now added alongside were intense feelings of guilt, I knew I had to call him back today. But as that thought had barely finished I heard a knock upon my front door, the sound of banging loudly reverberated through my house and mind. I threw my bath robe on and went to answer the door, not knowing who would be waiting for me. As I opened the door I was greeted by my Father, tears were pouring down his face. 

"Son, why won't you talk to me?" he asked on the doorstep, his voice croaking as he spoke. I'd never seen my Father cry before, the feeling in my stomach changed from one of forgetfulness to one of fear. 

"I'm not not talking to you Father, I've just been sick, why don't you come in?" I ushered him in as I spoke, he wiped away his tears with a handkerchief and stepped inside. We both headed to the kitchen and I flipped the kettle on to make him a drink. At first we didn't say anything at all, we sat in a silence that wasn't awkward but at the same time certainly wasn't comfortable. 

"We really need to talk Son." My Father was the first to break the silence, my stomach dropped as he did. 

"What is there to talk about?" I asked, I knew it must be bad for him to come here without warning, he never does spontaneous visits. My Father looked down at his feet and my anticipation grew, though I was fearful of what he had to say I was desperate to know now what brought him here. 

"What I'm about to tell you is going to be hard for you to hear, but I have no choice, we can't keep going on like this." He couldn't look at me as he spoke, I'd never heard him sound the way he did before, there was something in his voice I was unfamiliar with. 

"What is it? You're scaring me." I hated to say that kind of thing, but it was true, I was afraid.

"This is really hard, I don't really know how to say this to you." He was hesitant.

"Father! Spit it out! What's going on!" I was trying not to shout but I was clearly distressed. 

"Your Mother..."

"What about her? What's wrong with her? Is she okay?" The feeling in my gut began to worsen.

"No, no she's not Son, and unfortunately, neither are you." 

"What do you mean?" My legs started to feel weak and a dizziness began to overcome me.

"Okay, I'm just going to come out and say it. Two weeks ago, you and your Mother were in a car crash. She didn't, well she didn't make it, she died on the scene, you survived, you took no injury, but for some reason it's like you can't remember it, or you've just gone into total denial." His voice broke and I saw tears begin to run down his cheeks once again. 

"What are you saying?" The words left me in a voice I hardly recognised to be my own.

"You're not well Son, you need to let me in." His tears turned to floods "I miss you, I love you, I feel like I lost her and now I'm losing you too. My whole world is falling apart." 

I stood and watched my Father shake with emotion. I didn't know what to do, I felt like I was about to be sick, I wanted to collapse, I wanted to shout and scream and call him a liar, but the absolute sincerity in his words and tears made me know he was telling the truth. And that's when it hit me, that gut feeling of forgetting, the purpose of it's being, my legs weakened and I collapsed under my own weight as flashes of memories danced through my mind. I felt the feeling begin to fade in my stomach, replaced by a violent splitting sensation in both temples. My Father rushed to my side and put his arms around me, he embraced me as tears began to pour forth. My Mother was dead, I saw her die, how could I forget?